


A Light Across The Ocean

by Laughing_Screaming



Category: X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies), X-Men (Movieverse), X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Coma, Eventual Smut, F/M, Family Drama, Flashbacks, Friends With Benefits, Friendship, Grief/Mourning, I Wrote This To Hurt My Own Feelings, M/M, Medical Trauma, Pining, Post-X-Men: Dark Phoenix (2019), Raven is Kurt's mom, Romance, Slow Burn, Some Humor, Teaching, Unrequited Crush, dadneto, mostly angst though, past trauma
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-22
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:41:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 14
Words: 73,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27662183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laughing_Screaming/pseuds/Laughing_Screaming
Summary: Kurt reached out to slide his hand, palm down, under Peter’s. He watched as Peter’s fingers, waxy-white and cooler than they should be, curved passively around Kurt’s thick second digit. “Please wake up.” Kurt whispered.Set about two months after the end of Dark Phoenix, the remaining X-Men try to adjust to massive changes and overwhelming loss. New opportunities arise, and relationships are forever altered. Kurt struggles to support his friends in their grief, and sits at Peter's bedside every day, praying for his recovery. He's at his breaking point, but something unexpected puts things in a new light.
Relationships: Amanda Sefton/Kurt Wagner, Erik Lehnsherr & Pietro Maximoff, Erik Lehnsherr/Charles Xavier, Hank McCoy & Kurt Wagner, Hank McCoy/Raven | Mystique, Jean Grey/Scott Summers, Jimaine Szardos & Kurt Wagner, Kitty Pryde & Kurt Wagner, Margali Szardos & Kurt Wagner, Ororo Munroe/Kurt Wagner, Pietro Maximoff/Kurt Wagner, Raven | Mystique & Kurt Wagner, Stefan Szardos & Kurt Wagner
Comments: 115
Kudos: 48





	1. Dear God

**Author's Note:**

> So, I came up with this story when trying to think of an explanation why the movies seem to suggest that Kurt is an X-Man in 1993, but apparently does not stick around long enough to be in Days of Future Past. I understand that the timeline of the movies is less of a line and more of a hairball, and I am notably terrible at timelines to begin with, but I wrote this anyway.  
> Please note that most chapters have flashbacks. These have a bold header and should clearly state when and where they occur. If one says 'Currently" then it means in 1993, when the movie is set. These exist to "fill in the blanks" between Apocalypse and Dark Phoenix, and to add character development. Some are just for fun.  
> Also, this fic *IS NOT* a sequel to my other fics, and exists in it's own continuity. However, the characterizations and backstories should be pretty similar. It is not necessary at all to read anything else I wrote in order to follow this story.  
> I still don't own any X-Men, I still use Google Translate, and I'm still doing the lame gimmick of the chapter titles being song lyrics.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kurt visits with Peter and helps Kitty with the Blackbird. In a flashback to 1990, the X-Men attend a gala.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This first chapter takes place ~2 months after the end of Dark Phoenix. At this point, Peter is in a coma after having been injured during the events of the film.

“Hmm...what else is new...Oh! My Drama class is going to do _Julius Caesar_ this year for their end-of-semester show. They really pushed for _Romeo and Juliet_ , but I just don’t care for that one. I don’t think it sends a good message to impressionable young people…”

A dull, droning alarm was suddenly heard from an IV machine. Kurt startled momentarily, but then dutifully straightened out a length of plastic IV tubing that had gotten kinked under some bedding. The alarm promptly ceased. 

“Although I suppose _Julius Caesar_ isn’t much better, what with all the backstabbing…”

Kurt stopped to watch as Peter’s eyelid fluttered, revealing the dark-brown iris underneath it for a fraction of a second as it rolled purposelessly out of view.

“Ororo is taking her Advanced Botany class to the arboreum on Wednesday. She asked if I wanted to come but I’ve been coaching your track-and-field team, so I can’t.” Kurt wrung his hands and then cracked his knuckles loudly, the sound echoing off the stark grey walls. “They’re a good team, though. I don’t mind coaching them. Everyday they ask ‘When is Peter coming back?’ They also say ‘Peter lets us leave early!’ and ‘Peter doesn’t mind when we spit on the ground.’ Needless to say, they miss you.” 

He sat back in his chair, looking over the sprawling array of tubes in and around Peter’s body. There were IVs in both arms and on the back of one hand, a feeding tube in his nose and several respirator tubes down his throat. There were catheters and surgical drainage tubes and others that Kurt couldn’t even guess where they led to or descended from. Kurt was suddenly struck by a vivid, disturbing image of pulling back Peter’s pale blue hospital blanket to reveal that his body had been replaced by tubes entirely -resembling a medical snake’s nest more than a person. He clenched his eyes shut and shook his head.

“Scott has been doing very well this week!” he announced cheerfully. “He’s teaching classes again, and eating meals with the rest of us. So that’s very good.” He looked down, scratching his head. “The first week or so after Jean... _was gone_...it was all Ororo and I could do to get him out of his room and fed and showered. He’s doing so much better now.”

Kurt, out of habit, paused as though there was a chance Peter might respond. He heard the rhythmic, mechanical whoosh of the ventilator and watched Peter’s chest rise and fall in kind. A deep, phlegmy crackling was heard, and the rhythm of the ventilator halted as Peter coughed spasmodically, face reddening as tears spilled from still-closed eyes, veins in his neck appearing distended as his chest heaved. In a few seconds it was all over and the ventilator resumed its task. Hank had said this was normal. Kurt had lost track of all the bizarre, unseemly things that Hank said ‘were normal.’

Kurt noted belatedly that he had grasped his tail during Peter’s coughing fit. He rolled his eyes at his own childishness as he released the limb from his grip and frowned. “Hank is doing...less well, though. He hardly talks to anyone anymore. He just works constantly, every day, until he collapses...I know Ororo and I have found that keeping busy is helpful, but at least we talk to each other, and to Scott...and to you.” Kurt leaned forward, resting his elbow on his knee as he held his chin in his hand. “We’ve tried to reach out to him and include him with everything we’re doing, with the school, but he’s not interested. When he’s not looking after you, he’s planning major overhauls to the Blackbird, tinkering with this or that in his lab...I know that, um, Raven’s death is probably harder on him than for the rest of us, but I feel like if she saw him like that she would yell at him.”

Kurt glanced up at the humming fluorescent light. “ _Ja_ , she would definitely yell at him.”

He reached through the metal bars of the side rail to idly rearrange Peter’s hand, which was positioned awkwardly in a clump of bedding. “I’ve been talking to your father, too. On the phone. I found the number in the rolodex on Raven’s old desk, and I couldn’t believe that it actually worked. I’ve just been keeping him updated...you know, about you. If you don’t like that, you can swear at me about it later.”

He looked down as he continued to gently move Peter’s arm and hand around; noting the IVs, the splotches of leftover medical tape adhesive, a small rectangular bandage that covered a wound that had required five stitches, a mostly-healed abrasion, and bruises of every colour- old and new. His other arm was wrapped hand-to-elbow in a heavy plaster cast. 

“Your father and the Professor are with each other now, which is...nice for them, I think. Your father sounds like he’s doing well, considering. The Professor hasn’t wanted to speak to me, but I’m sure your father keeps him updated. I do wish he would speak to Ororo, though. They were quite close. I’m sure she would be glad to hear from him.”

Kurt found himself suddenly without anything else to say. He glanced at the simple wall clock and back to Peter’s arm, now settled in a more comfortable-looking position on the bed. Kurt reached out to slide his hand, palm down, under Peter’s. He watched as Peter’s fingers, waxy-white and cooler than they should be, curved passively around Kurt’s thick second digit.

“Please wake up.” Kurt whispered.

“Kurt! I thought you left forty minutes ago!” Hank’s booming voice from behind startled him, and he stood abruptly.

“I was just on my way out.” 

“I have you on the schedule for Blackbird maintenance today. Kitty will be waiting for you.” Hank stated, tapping his clipboard with his pen. 

“Kitty is aware of when to expect me. I’m not late.” Kurt explained plainly. Hank looked unsatisfied. “If you’ll excuse me…” Kurt muttered, trying to squeeze by Hank’s large frame so he could exit the small room.

Hank moved the bare minimum required to allow Kurt to pass. “He can’t hear you.” he said, just as Kurt was about to leave the room.

Kurt hesitated and looked at the floor. “I know.”

******

“Alright, _Kätzchen_ , I am ready for that circuit board whenever you are done with it.” Kurt’s voice echoed from inside the hull of the Blackbird, underneath the console. 

“Comin’ right up!” Kitty replied cheerfully, as she quickly moved her soldering iron over the last of several circuit boards she was preparing. In mere minutes she was finished, and she carried the completed electronic components over the plane, taking a few steps up a small mobile staircase so she could phase the items through the plane’s side. 

“ _Danke schön_!” A soft rhythmic shuffling sound was heard as Kurt screwed the new circuit board into place and attached it to the preexisting wiring. “How does that look?” he asked when he was finished. 

“Hmm…” Kitty squinted as she phased her entire upper body into the plane, near where Kurt had squeezed himself. 

“Oh, sorry.” he muttered as he took a small flashlight from his coveralls pocket and switched it on, so she could examine how well her handiwork was connected to the rest of the plane’s circuitry. 

“Looks good!” Kitty confirmed. She phased back out of the fuselage and Kurt teleported adjacent to their work table. 

“So, what was Hank hoping to accomplish with all this new circuitry? He told me, but I think I lost him after about five seconds.” Kurt asked, as he started packing up their equipment.

“Well, the new circuit boards that I made should improve how the circuitry of the plane interfaces with the newly updated autopilotting program he wants to install, so the plane runs smoother and reacts faster to, like, environmental changes and stuff like that.” Kitty explained as she cleaned off her soldering tools.

“Ah. Just as well I didn’t pay attention to him. It’s way over my head.” Kurt replied with a nod. 

“Oh, come on! It’s not that complicated!” 

“ _Kätzchen,_ I make the plane go ‘VROOM.’ That’s as complicated as I can handle.” He flashed a fanged smile. 

She smiled back, rolling her eyes and shaking her head. “The plane doesn’t go ‘vroom.’ It goes ‘WWWHHOOOORRRRRAAAAAHHHHRRRRR’!” she shouted, holding her arms above her head, as she and Kurt dissolved into laughter while her voice still echoed off the hangar walls. 

“ _Ja_ , well, that’s all me.” Kurt confirmed with mock-smugness, tugging on the collar of his coveralls. 

“Oh, whatever!” Kitty laughed again, giving his arm a small slap. 

They continued tidying up after themselves in relative silence for a moment, until Kitty put the last of the soldering tools into their spot in the cabinet. “How’s your friend doing?” she called over. 

He looked up from the welding equipment he was checking. “Oh! He is...the same. I guess.”

He must have sounded more despondent than he intended, because Kitty winced and frowned. “Ugh. I’m sorry.”

“Oh, no. It’s quite alright. It was kind of you to ask.” Kurt assured. “It’s just that...it’s been over a month and a half, and so little has changed. When he was first injured, I prayed every day that he would live, and now I can’t help but think that if this is what ‘living’ means for him...then maybe it would have been better if he hadn’t.”

“Oh, gosh, Kurt. That’s awful.” Kitty replied sympathetically.

Kurt looked down, shrugging slightly. “It’s in God’s hands now.” He looked back up at her, now smiling politely. “In any case, we should talk about something else. Have you thought any more about which schools you are going to apply for after graduation?”

“Ew! No!” Kitty groaned as she stepped out of her too-big dull green coveralls and adjusted the strap of the faded denim overalls she had on underneath. “Mom’s been bugging me about that all the time, too...but I really don’t know if I want to go to college right after I graduate…”

“Hmm?” Kurt leaned against the workbench, listening intently.

“Like, I skipped a year, right? So it’s bad enough that I’m already younger than the other kids in my grade. But in college, my classmates will be a bunch of, like, twenty-year-olds! Who are all _drinking_ and _having sex_! And here I am, can’t even get into an R-rated movie…”

Kurt nodded along, clicking his tongue against his teeth when she was finished. “ _Ja_ , I can see your point. But no one says you have to go right to college! Have you considered taking a year off to do a work-study placement?” he asked. “I’m sure Hank could get you an internship with NASA!”

“Ugh! Then I’d have to spend a year hanging out with a bunch of stuffy old dudes…” 

“Now, now, _Kätzchen._ Be serious. There might also be stuffy old women.” Kurt mock-scolded with a smirk. 

Kitty shot him a look as she packed her things into her locker while he did the same. “I keep hearing about people who take a year off after high school to backpack around Europe. That might be fun.”

“ _Ach_. As someone who spent my entire youth travelling throughout Europe, I’ll never understand this weird North American ‘backpacking’ obsession.” Kurt complained. “Personally, I think it’s because the legal drinking age is so old here. American kids go to Berlin so they can stumble around drunk and fall in the Plötzensee…” he trailed off, shaking his head.

“Oh? What’s the drinking age where you’re from?” Kitty pressed. 

“Sixteen.” Kurt replied with a casual shrug.

Kitty gave a scandalous gasp. “Seriously? You’re saying that I would be drinking age in a few months if I was in Europe?”

Kurt shrugged again.“ _Ja_. What is the big deal? It wouldn’t bother me if you had a beer _now_ , as long as your parents didn’t mind.”

“Oh, trust me. They would definitely mind.” Kitty stated seriously.

Kurt laughed, and they walked towards the hangar exit together. “In that case, you can have a coke. I will have a beer and you can watch me drink it.” 

“Oh, wow. Thrilling.Thank you.” Kitty grumbled sarcastically and Kurt continued to chuckle.

“What? I suppose you have something more fun planned for the evening?”

“If you must know, me and Piotr and Dani and Illyana and Sam are going to go see _Jurassic Park_.” she replied smugly.

“ _Again_?!” Kurt asked incredulously. 

“What? So?”

“I just think eight times is excessive.”

“Pfft!”

******

**Mansion Common Room. Late Spring, 1990**

Kurt peered out the window of one of the mansion’s common rooms, watching guests arrive for the Professor’s highly-anticipated gala, as he nervously tugged on the sleeves of his coat. The classic black suit had, like almost every article of clothing he owned, been altered to fit him, but that didn’t mean he felt comfortable in it. He had offered to help out by lending a hand in the kitchen or making sure they didn’t run out of ice, but Charles Xavier was adamant that all his X-Men be present and accessible to their distinguished guests- a combination of potential donors, influential members of high society, and major political players. The X-Men had recently had a number of high-profile successful missions that saved lives and looked good on camera, and the Professor decided that the evening’s gala was the best way to roll this surge of positive attention on mutants into increased funding for the school and other mutant-related organizations as well as increased political influence and legal protections. It all sounded good, but Kurt had been dreading it for weeks. He had spent the past few minutes praying that none of the guests would poke him with a stick.

“Anything interesting?”

He turned to the familiar voice, and then completely lost his ability to speak coherently. Ororo stood before him, wearing a breathtaking, curve-hugging dark red gown. The floor length hem and the long sleeves echoed her natural poise, but the deep, daring plunge of the neckline was impossible to ignore. 

“I need your help!” Ororo announced, when it was clear that Kurt wasn’t going to be able to use words anytime soon. 

“Oh!” Kurt was instantly back to reality. “Of course. What do you need?”

“My zipper…” She pointed over her shoulder, turning her back to him. The zipper up the back of her dress had gotten stuck with about four centimeters left to zip. Kurt went to work, carefully removing the small fold of fabric that was jamming the zipper, and zipping it up the rest of the way. “There’s also a small hook that fastens it.” Ororo added. 

“ _Ja_ , I see it.” Kurt fastened the clasp easily. “And there you are.”

“Thank you.” Ororo breathed a sigh of relief, turning to face him. “I’ve never worn anything like this before.” she said as she smoothed her hands over her hips. She looked up at him next, eyes questioning. “Do I look alright?”

Kurt clasped his hands together, taking a deep breath as he dared to look over her form as she waited for his assessment. “Like a lily among brambles.” he finally managed. 

She smiled, one of her genuine, radiant smiles. “You really think so? It’s not too much?”

“Of _you_? There is no such thing.”

“Stop!” She playfully swatted at his abdomen, and they both laughed. 

She reached out to touch the lapels of his coat, before ghosting her hands over the angles of his shoulders and waistline. “This is a different look for you, as well. You could be the next James Bond!.”

Kurt looked down bashfully. “ _Danke_. The tailor was very good, even considering that he’s never had to work around a tail before.” He brought his tail, curling gracefully, into the space between them.

Ororo smiled again, and offered him her hand. “Shall we walk in together?” she asked, inflecting a slightly mocking upper class tone. 

Kurt offered his forearm in turn, gently placing her hand on it. “It would be my pleasure.”

Together, they turned towards the door and began to walk towards it. On the other side of the room, Kurt noticed Scott standing in front of a decorative wall mirror, tugging off his tie, attempting to tie it, and then frustratedly tugging it off again with a disgusted expression. Kurt sighed quietly and gently touched Ororo’s hand on his forearm.

“Can you wait one moment, _bitte_? I’ll be right back.”

She gave a quick nod and he walked quickly to where Scott was standing. “Need a hand, _Freund_?” he asked.

Scott looked up helplessly, gripping both ends of his tie. “Please.” he replied emphatically. 

Kurt carefully maneuvered them so that he was standing behind Scott, and they both faced the mirror. He took Scott’s tie out of his hands, and started deftly folding it into place. “Sorry. I can only do it from this angle.” he muttered as he folded the length of burgundy silk around itself. 

“Whatever works, man. You’re a lifesaver.” Scott agreed, breathing a sigh of relief. “I normally get Jean to do this for me, but she’s off helping the Professor with his speech.”

“Oh, not at all.” Kurt assured. “I’d much rather be doing this than actually going to this _verdammt_ event.”

“Oh, please.” Scott groaned. “By the end of the night, you’ll be up to your neck in hot women’s phone numbers.”

Kurt scoffed bitterly, grumbling, “ _Ja_ , and they will all be for Animal Control.”

“Come _on_ , man! That was _one time_!”

Kurt shook his head, but then took a small step back from Scott when he finished with his tie. “All done.”

Scott stared into the mirror, admiring Kurt’s handwork. “Looks great! Thanks!” He turned around, leaning towards Kurt to pat him on the shoulder, adding, “Besides, if you and ‘Ro are walking in together, your mutant power might as well be invisibility.”

Kurt glanced towards where Ororo still waited for him. “ _Ja_ , I think you might be right.” he agreed, nodding seriously. “That dress is red, by the way.”

“Seriously? _God damn_.”

Kurt nodded again.

“Fuck, I miss having colour vision.”

Kurt glanced towards the door, just in time to see Jean, dressed in an emerald green strapless gown with a sweetheart neckline, walk into the room. “Jean’s dress is green.” Kurt stated helpfully.

Scott gave a disappointed sigh. “I’ll have to take your word for it.”

Scott gave Kurt a final, friendly pat on the back as he quickly walked to Jean. Kurt turned back to Ororo, just in time to see that Peter was now next to her, their arms linked together, as they walked towards the doorway. Peter, who only a couple of hours ago had to be convinced _not_ to wear a T-shirt that had a tuxedo printed on it, must have sped into the room unseen, and had managed to convince Ororo that either Kurt wasn’t coming back in time or that he was simply a better option to walk in with. The fact that he accomplished this in a manner of seconds would be impressive if it wasn’t likely done out of spite. Peter made sure to tease Kurt about his apparent crush on Ororo almost daily. The other option, Kurt thought bitterly, is that Ororo just preferred Peter’s company, and was glad to have an alternative. Regardless, there was nothing he could do about it now, and so he watched, stone-faced and with his arms at his sides, as they walked out together, followed by Jean and Scott.

“Kurt! There you are!”

Kurt startled slightly, just as Raven appeared at his side. Her stark-white halter-style sheath dress was essentially the formal version of her everyday training outfit. The biggest difference was that she had transformed her normally short red hair into an elegant updo.

“Come with me. There’s someone I want you to meet.” she continued, grabbing his elbow and yanking him towards the door. “C’mon, c’mon, c’mon.” 

She led him down a different hallway than the rest of the X-Men were following, which he knew would result in them entering the ballroom through a side door. So much for making an entrance.

“Who is it?” Kurt asked, as they walked quickly up the hall. 

“Just you wait.”

“Does your hairclip have a skull on it?”

“Yup!”

They emerged into the extravagantly decorated ballroom from a staff access door that was positioned near where the drinks and hor d'oeuvres were set up. It left Kurt with the distinct impression that, although he’d been living in the mansion for almost seven years, he was doing something he shouldn’t be and should avoid getting caught. But he followed Raven anyway, raising an amused eyebrow as she snatched a few snacks and a glass of champagne off a table without missing a step, right up until she stopped at the side of an ostensibly middle-aged man dressed in black, who was had his back turned to them as he chatted with another guest. 

“Francis! I hope I’m not interrupting.” Raven said quickly, as she definitely interrupted. “I’d like you to meet my illegitimate son, Kurt.”

“Please stop introducing me to people like that.” Kurt managed to sternly whisper, as the man Raven spoke to turned around. For the second time that evening, Kurt found himself at a loss for words. The man who turned to him, smiling and with a friendly hand extended, was dressed in a strict all-black suit with the exception of a bright white collar. ‘Francis’ was actually Father Francis Vernon, a Catholic priest who had made a name for himself through a series of well-regarded books on philosophy, theology, and modern-day Catholic life. He was known for his charming, jovial demeanor, and often appeared on talk shows and partook in multi-denominational theological discussions. He may not have been an Archbishop or the Pope, but when Father Vernon spoke, Catholics listened. The rest of the spiritual -as well as the secular- world often listened as well. 

“Ah, yes. Kurt! It’s so good to meet you! I’ve heard much about you.” Father Vernon said as he shook Kurt’s hand without hesitation. 

“Oh?” Kurt responded automatically, still somewhat bewildered. “How is that?” Kurt attended church regularly, but at a modestly sized local parish. The parish priest, Father James MacIntyre, was a soft-spoken man who was in no way a heavy-hitter in the local Catholic community. 

Father Vernon laughed as Raven crossed her arms and looked on smugly. “You came up during a brunch meeting with some of the local priests. We were discussing current events when the topic of mutants came up. I am embarrassed to admit it wasn’t something I’d thought much about, but one of the other priests, Father Corsitto, told us about how several of his parishioners- a young woman and her two children- were hostages at that attempted bank robbery in Manhattan a few months ago. You know the one!” Father Vernon smiled broadly and gestured towards Kurt with his drink in-hand. The attempted robbery/hostage situation was brought to a swift and non-violent end when the X-Men intervened. Notably, Jean was able to render the ring-leader unconscious while Kurt rapidly disarmed the rest of the crew. 

Kurt nodded along as Father Vernon gleefully continued his story. “Father Corsitto was _emphatic_ about how fortunate- how _blessed_ \- this young woman felt when she saw several assault rifles disappear into smoke, and how blessed _he_ was to still have these people as part of his church. Then Father MacIntyre- a good friend of mine. We went to the seminary together- piped up, saying, ‘Into _smoke_ , you say? I know him!’ Well, I can’t tell you how pleased I was to find out that one of these heroes- these _X-Men_ \- was one of **ours**.”

“Oh.. _.that_. Well, it really wasn’t that big of a deal. It only took a second.” Kurt replied bashfully, as he fidgeted with his hands. He regretted not having grabbed a drink, just so that he would have something to hold on to. 

“Yes, I’m sure it did, with your God-given abilities.” Father Vernon followed with a raised eyebrow and an easy smile. “Father MacIntyre said you were a somewhat shy young man, but I wanted to meet you for myself regardless. My publicist was able to get me in touch with Ms. Darkhölm, who told me about this evening’s event. And I must say that you look much better in person than in the picture I was shown.” 

“Is that so?”

Father Vernon nodded as Raven, if possible, looked even more smug. 

“Yes. Now, if you have time, there is much I’d like to discuss with you. I’m told you were baptised in Munich, Germany. Is that correct?”

“A small town just outside Munich, actually, but yes.”

Father Vernon and Kurt spent the next forty-five minutes chatting about everything from the role of the Church in Kurt’s own life, to what he felt could be done to improve how mutants are treated by religious officials and by society at large. Father Vernon seemed pleased to have a ‘go-to’ for all his mutant-related inquiries, and did not appear insulted when Kurt would, after he finally relaxed a bit, criticize how he and other mutants were sometimes treated by clergypeople, and how religious leaders often stayed silent when politicians went on anti-mutant witch hunts. The rest of the evening went as predicted, with the Professor’s impressive-yet-inoffensive speech and a lot more ‘mingling’ as well as a few likely-inebriated wealthy young women who voiced loud and insistent interest in his tail. When the evening drew to a close, Raven was waiting for him next to the side-door she had led him through earlier. 

“So, how did you get along with your new friend?” she asked, in a slightly mocking tone, as they started walking up the same hallway as before. 

“Very well!” Kurt smiled. “He really seems interested in making the everyday Catholic experience more welcoming to mutants. And he said he wanted to try and pass that same message along to other religious leaders he knows!”

“Nicely done, Kurt.” Raven replied, nodding and smirking slightly. “At this rate, you’ll be Charles’ new favourite.” 

“I know you are joking, but I have to thank you anyway.” Kurt replied seriously. “This really did mean a lot to me.”

“Yeah, well, I did forget your birthday last year, so…” Raven trailed off with a shrug. 

“Although I do have one question…” Kurt added tentatively. “He made a point of saying that I looked better in person than in a picture he saw. Why would he say that? I don’t think he was just being polite.”

“Ha! Well-” Raven stopped walking in order to pull a wallet from God-knows-where, opening it and flipping through several wallet-sized photos. 

“You have a picture of me in your wallet?” Kurt deadpanned. 

“Well, duh. You never know when you’ll need to show someone your _illegitimate son_.” she replied easily, snickering to herself as Kurt narrowed his eyes and huffed.

“Here it is!” she finally announced, shoving the picture in his face. He took the small picture from her fingers and stared at it. The photograph had been trimmed to fit in the wallet, and featured Kurt, in his X-Men uniform, seated hunched over on a street side curb. His eyes were tremendously bloodshot. A combination of tears, mucus, and saliva ran down his face and neck as Hank crouched in front of him, forcing one of Kurt’s eyes open with his fingers while holding a bottle of saline in his free hand and a towel draped over his forearm. In the photo’s left corner, Raven’s grinning face was seen, as she leaned into the frame of a picture she herself was gleefully taking. 

“Why do you have this picture?” Kurt asked incredulously. The image was from a mission over two years ago, where they had been tasked with rescuing some people who were trapped by a fire in the lower levels of an apartment building. Kurt had easily teleported an elderly woman safely to the ground, just to have her immediately pepper-spray him in a panic.

“It was your first time getting maced!” Raven responded joyously, then explained, “I read in a parenting magazine at the dentist’s office that it’s normal to keep, I dunno, _reminders_ of your kid’s accomplishments or whatever.”

Kurt scowled. “Normal parents keep...soccer trophies! Or...or...nice pictures that they drew!” he sputtered. “A frightened old woman doused me in pepper-spray! What about that seems like an accomplishment to you?”

“You took it like a fuckin’ champ!” Raven beamed proudly, and then set her hands on her hips. Kurt continued scowling, arms crossed and shaking his head in clear disapproval. Raven grabbed his upper arm with both hands, and shook it while muttering, “So proud of you!” as he hung his head and sighed. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter's title is from the 1986 XTC song of the same name. I liked it for this because it refers to Kurt's faith directly, but the song itself is rather cynical, so it also addresses how poorly things have been going recently, and how that faith's been tested.  
> The characterization of Kitty Pryde in this story is more based on a combination of the comics and maybe a little X-Men Evolution than it is on her appearance in the X-Men movies, because that's mainly where I know her from, and that better encompasses her role in this story (teenage girl who is friends with Kurt and good at electronics and computers).  
> Also, during the course of the story, I name-drop some background characters who are X-Men. I didn't do a whole continuity check for each one, so no doubt there are conflicts. I'm not overly concerned about it, and neither should you be.


	2. Why Can’t We Sleep Forever?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kurt reaches out to Erik about Peter, and then meets up with Ororo. In a flashback, Hank and Kurt run errands!

“So...Hank said it looks like he’s plateaued, recovery-wise, so if he remains stable for the next day or two, he’s going to try weaning Peter off the medication that keeps him sedated. The main thing, Hank says, is to see if he can breathe on his own.” Kurt spoke into the receiver, as he crouched on the ceiling above Raven’s old desk, tail and phone cord swaying as he spoke.

“...I see.” Erik’s voice answered hesitantly from the other end of the line.

“ _Ja_. And if that goes well, then Hank will turn the medication off entirely. That’s when we’ll find out...how things are going to be, I guess.” 

“Hmm. What happens if he can’t breath on his own?” 

“Uh....” Kurt rubbed his forehead and took a deep breath. “I don’t think there are many options for him, if that’s the case.” he admitted guiltily. 

“I understand.” Erik replied, somehow equally guilty. 

There was a long, uncomfortable silence. “So I can call you in a few days if…” Kurt started, poking at a cobweb on the nearby ceiling light with his tail. “Actually, I’ll just call you anyway. To keep you informed.”

“That’s good. Thank you.” Erik replied plainly, and then paused a beat before adding sincerely, “And thank you, Kurt for reaching out to me like this, to keep me updated on Peter’s condition. You didn’t have to, and I appreciate it.”

“It’s nothing, really. I just didn’t want you to worry.” Kurt replied, until he cringed to himself. “So I called you up and gave you a ton of disturbing information so you can worry even more…” he rambled.

“Obviously, Peter’s situation is troubling, but I think it’s better to know.” Erik confirmed. “And besides, it’s not ‘nothing’ for you to call me. I can’t imagine Hank would be too pleased if he knew.”

Kurt gave a bitter scoff. “You just let me worry about whether Hank is pleased with me or not.” When he heard Erik huff on the other end of the line, he added, “And that goes, also, if you wanted to actually visit Peter here. I can handle Hank.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

“So, how are things otherwise? Are you and the Professor doing alright?”

“Yes, we’re fine, thank you.

“Is he there now? Did he want to talk to me about anything?”

There was a pause on the other end of the line. “He prefers not to speak over the phone, for the most part.” 

“Hmm. I wonder why that is.” Kurt mumbled sarcastically, before perking up. “In any case, could you tell him that Scott is back teaching classes again, and Ororo took her Advanced Botany class on a very nice field trip to the arboreum?”

“Of course.”

“ _Danke_. I’ll let you go then. We’ll talk soon.”

“ _Auf Wiedersehen_.”

In one motion, Kurt flipped off the ceiling and hung up the phone, landing lightly on both feet. He gave Raven’s rolodex a quick spin with the tip of his tail before teleporting out of the dark, locked room. 

******

Erik hung up the phone and stared at it, arms crossed. Behind him, Charles looked up from his book, closing it over and saving his page with his thumb. “No improvement?” Charles asked sympathetically.

Erik sighed. “It’s essentially how you said it would be, when it all started. But-”

“That doesn’t make it any easier to hear, I know. I’m sorry.”

Erik turned to face him, leaning against the wooden desk that the phone was on. “Kurt said the next few days are vital, so-”

“So it’s not completely hopeless yet. Peter is very resilient.” 

Erik only nodded wordlessly in response. 

Charles opened his book back up, turning the page. “It’s odd that you and Kurt speak to each other in English.”

Erik scoffed, shrugging slightly. “I answered the phone one day and heard ‘ _Hallo_ , could I speak to Mr. Lehnsherr please?’ and it just went from there.”

Charles gave a small, amused “Hmm.” and returned his attention to his book. 

“He asked me to tell you-”

“That Scott is teaching and Ororo took her class on a field trip. That’s good to hear.” 

Erik crossed his arms again, scowling. 

Charles scowled back, closing his book over again. “What? You’re both loud talkers. I overheard.” 

Erik raised a skeptical eyebrow as Charles opened his book yet again. He watched Charles turn pages at regular intervals for a moment, until he asked suddenly, “What is Kurt like?”

Charles looked to him in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, I’ve been talking to him every few days for well over a month, and I don’t know anything about him. Of course, I know a few details just from speaking to Peter or Raven, but that’s it. So what is he like?”

Charles placed a leather bookmark between the pages of his book, set it on a nearby end table, and folded his hands in his lap as he looked upwards in thought. After several seconds, he concluded, “Kurt is a nice young man.”

“That’s it?” 

Charles shrugged and nodded. 

“He’s _nice_?” Erik pressed. Charles nodded yet again. “You’ve lived and worked with him for _ten years_. He’s your deceased sister’s _only child_. And he’s...nice?”

Charles threw his hands up in exasperation, letting them flop back into his lap. “It’s his single most defining characteristic, Erik. Ask anyone.” 

“I’m not asking _anyone_. I’m asking you- the greatest telepath in the world.”

“Well, I don’t know what you want me to tell you. I’ve mostly stayed out of their personal lives.”

Charles tried not to look insulted by Erik’s sharp, immediate laugh. He gave Charles a pointed look. “Last week, we had an hour-and-a-half-long conversation about how you felt that manipulating Jean’s memories in order to circumvent her past trauma was justified because it allowed her to control her powers better, but that Ororo’s claustrophobia did not merit a similar treatment, even though it _also_ developed secondary to her parent’s deaths, because you felt that her working through that emotional damage in a more traditional way would result in considerable personal growth.” 

Charles stared back blankly. “Yes. What’s your point?” Erik shook his head, causing Charles to sigh. “It was the nature of my work to spend more time with my students who required more help. Kurt never came to me with any concerns.” After a moment’s pause, he looked away as he added, somewhat guiltily, “I always stayed out of Kurt’s mind, because Raven asked me to.”

“Because she was afraid of what you would find.” Erik responded flatly. 

Charles closed his eyes, taking a deep breath before he explained, with his palms pressed together, “Erik, you need to realize how difficult the.. _.situation_ with Kurt was for Raven. The circumstances of his birth were incredibly traumatic, and she had an immense amount of shame from having kept him a secret from us for all those years. By the time I even met him, he was almost a grown man, and their relationship, even when they were getting along, was always very complicated.”

“So, in order to preserve your relationship with Raven, you agreed to ignore him.” Erik responded again, still unimpressed.

Charles scoffed indignantly. “I didn’t _ignore_ him, I just...didn’t dig. If I had worried about him, I would have done something about it.” Erik stared back skeptically. Charles ignored him and picked his book back up. “I’m sure it was fine. He grew up in a travelling circus, Erik. Circuses are fun.”

“From the audience, I’m sure they are.”

Charles sighed and shot Erik a look. “Besides, it’s not like he’s some stranger who lived in my basement. I met his foster mother and sister before, when they came to visit him once. His mother was an...oddly intimidating woman. She died about three or four years ago.”

“Oh?”

Charles gave a quick nod. “Emphysema. Life-long smoker, apparently.” Erik frowned briefly as Charles continued, “Kurt goes back to Germany for a week or so every year to visit with his sister; typically in the winter, during the circus off-season. She has two or three children now, I think.” There was a brief pause, until Charles suddenly clapped his hands together, smiling in self-satisfaction. “Oh! He also likes to go to church.”

Erik laughed despite himself and shook his head. “You should have just sent him to live in Genosha. He would have been _very_ popular.”

“Pfft. He wouldn’t go anywhere unless Peter and Ororo went with him. The three of them are practically inseparable.”

Erik opened his mouth to respond, holding one finger up, but was cut off before he could say anything.

“And I was not about to send any of my X-Men to join your weird mutant sex cult, Erik.”

“It was not a sex-”

“Let’s not fight.”

“Hmm. Fine.” 

******

Ororo stood in front of the full-length windows, watching the thick rivulets of water run down the glass, accompanied by the loud smattering of increasingly-torrential rain. The soft, familiar sound of footsteps behind her did not warrant a reaction, but when two long arms wrapped loosely around her shoulders, crossing over her upper chest, she exhaled and relaxed into the embrace. She brought her own hands up, wrapping her fingers around slim blue wrists as Kurt rested the side of his face on the back of her head. 

They stood like that in silence as seconds ticked by, both listening to the sound of heavy rain on the glass, until she let out a long, weary sigh. “You’re here to tell me that you’re worried about me.”

Kurt suppressed a small laugh and shifted so that they looked out the window. As he hesitated to respond, the sound of fat raindrops developed a sharp, faint tapping, which became louder and louder as rain began to give way to hailstones. “Actually, I’m here to tell you that I’m worried about the window.”

“Ha!” She laughed despite herself, before staving off the hail and rain with a wave of her hand. Within moments, the clouds had lightened and the sun was beginning to peak through in the distance. Kurt responded by giving her a supportive squeeze.

They watched the landscape brighten together in silence, until Kurt softly cleared his throat. “Hank is turning off his sedation tomorrow.”

Ororo nodded, and swallowed before responding. “I don’t know if that’s supposed to be a good thing or a bad thing anymore.”

Kurt sighed. “It’s...a change, at least.” Ororo nodded again. “Hank said he doesn’t want us around for the first part of it. He says it can be...an ugly process, while he waits to see if Peter will be able to breath on his own. He said he’ll come get us once he knows one way or the other.”

Ororo shifted on her feet, sniffing and looking down. Kurt stood back from her, hands still on her shoulders. “I don’t think I can say goodbye to anyone else.” Ororo admitted quietly.

“Well, it may not be goodbye.” Kurt assured. “It may be ‘Hello again.’”

Ororo sniffed again, but smiled slightly. “Or perhaps ‘What took you so damn long?’”

Kurt gave a small laugh. “ _Ja_ , definitely.”

He took his hands off her shoulders and stepped forward, now standing beside her in front of the tall windows. He shoved his hands in his pockets and she crossed her arms, leaning against his shoulder. She looked up at him until she caught his eye. “Hank _did something_ to the coffee maker.” she grumbled. 

“Ugh. _Ja._ He did.” Kurt replied with a frown. “I saw him taking it apart and swearing to himself yesterday evening. I asked him about it and he waved me off, and started going on about how inefficient it was, or something like that…”

Ororo shook her head, still rested on Kurt’s shoulder. “Well, he seems quite proud of it. I made sure to tell him how much better it tasted, but really, it tastes like old dirt.”

“Oh, no.” Kurt muttered. “I keep a jar of instant coffee grounds behind the microwave, for emergencies. Please help yourself.”

Ororo laughed. “Behind the microwave?”

Kurt nodded. “I once caught Peter eating it by the spoonful.”

“Ugh!”

They both laughed, after which Ororo stood up straight, running her fingers through her short, white hair. 

“I’m thinking I might try growing my hair out.” she commented idly. 

Kurt shrugged. “That might be fun for a change.”

“Hmm. Perhaps.” she replied. “It’s very thick, though, when it gets long. I don’t know what I’ll do with it all.”

Kurt looked at her fondly, clutching his hands in front of him. “I can just braid it for you. That’s what I used to do for my sister when we were children.”

Ororo threw her head back with a sharp laugh. “That’s perfect! I’ve always wanted to look like a Swiss milkmaid.”

Kurt grinned, gesturing towards her with both hands pressed together. “I promise that you would be the prettiest milkmaid in all the Alps.”

Ororo raised an eyebrow. “Of course, I’d have to get...one of those things…” She gestured towards her chest. “to complete the look.”

“A _dirndl_?” Kurt offered, smiling impishly.

“Yes.” she confirmed with a nod. “Although I have no idea how to lace it up or tie it. I may need your help with that.”

Kurt glanced at her with a smirk before looking away with his arms crossed. “Oh, great. Now I have _that_ to fantasize about.” he muttered in a mock-sarcastic tone.

“Oh?” Ororo feigned innocence. “Putting it on or taking it off?”

“Never you mind.”

He tried his hardest to look serious as she looked him up and down, but burst into laughter again when she elbowed him in the ribs. Both smiling, they turned again to look out the window, as the setting sun cast the sky in pink, purple, and blue.

“If you’re going to grow your hair out, maybe I should try growing a beard.” Kurt said, unprompted.

Ororo stared at his face analytically with her fingertip to her chin, tapping it lightly as she considered his options. “Please don’t.” 

******

**Miller and Sons Manufacturing. Upstate New York. Spring, 1989**

Hank stood at the reception desk of Miller and Sons Manufacturing, chatting with Teddy Miller, the company’s owner. The relatively small machine shop had really come through for Hank in the past few years. He normally preferred to design and machine his own custom components and parts for his various inventions, scientific equipment, and the Blackbird, but when he needed a lot of relatively simple parts manufactured, he had always found Miller and his employees to be very reliable. They were a couple-hours drive away, but they did have the added bonus of being a mutant-friendly business that employed several mutants and had no qualms about working with the X-Men. Hank was currently in his ‘plain, professional-looking man’ form, but most of the employees were aware that he was sometimes blue, and he had conducted business with them while blue before. 

Kurt had come along with Hank for the drive and to lend a hand, but he had wandered off after Hank and Miller entered into a lengthy conversation about the feasibility and cost of certain newly developed alloys. After who-knows-how-long, Hank and Miller wrapped up their conversation as Hank wrote a cheque for the parts he was picking up and Miller made him a copy of the receipt. 

As Miller reached across the desk to get a rubber stamper, he glanced into the open door to the shipping bay. “Oh!” he remarked, stepping closer to the door and looking around more. “I would have gotten one of my guys to pack up your order for you, but it looks like your boy already got it.”

“My who?” Hank tilted his head in confusion as he set his pen back into his pocket protector.

“Your son?” Miller followed. 

“My what?”

Miller sighed. “The other blue guy, who you came here with, and who asked you for a quarter for the gumball machine?”

“Oh! Him!” Hank laughed. “Kurt’s not my son.”

“Well, shoot. Sorry.” Miller looked embarrassed, and scratched the side of his neck. “I gotta admit, the ‘blue’ thing threw me off.”

Hank smiled, waving Miller’s concern away. “It happens all the time!” He set his hands on his hips, rocking back on his heels. “It’s actually an astute observation, being as Kurt’s and my unique skin tones have a similar- yet completely distinct- origin, despite the fact that we’re not actually in any way genetically related.”

“Ya don’t say?”

“I do say.” Hank nodded once. “You see, up until young adulthood, I’ve always looked the way you see me right now. It was only after I experimented with combining my DNA with that of a female colleague of mine, who _also_ happened to be blue, did I take on the appearance you’ve observed previously.” 

Miller nodded along, crossing his arms and leaning against the desk. “There’s _another_ blue person now?”

“Yes, of course. She was actually the _original_ blue person. This was back in the sixties.” Hank elaborated. Miller looked confused. Hank didn’t notice, and continued anyway, “Now, obviously, if I were to attempt the same experiment today, with these recent advancements in genetic sequencing and DNA splicing technology, it’s unlikely that it would have resulted in my previously noted changes to my complexion, physique, or level of hypertrichosis.”

At some point, Kurt had returned from packing away the parts they had ordered into the truck, and he stood next to Hank, chewing what was probably a very stale gumball. He watched Hank talk for a few seconds, and then smirked at the still-confused Miller. “Ah. He loves to tell this story.”

“Now, ironically, later on in the sixties, my colleague did a little ‘experimenting’ of her own-” Hank lowered his tone and raised an eyebrow. “which resulted in her having Kurt, here-” Hank paused to give an unamused Kurt a friendly slap on the back.”-who just obtained his unconventional skin tone the old fashioned way: through simple genetic inheritance!” 

Miller stared back blankly. “Okay.”

“Now, in recent years, Kurt and I have been working together quite a bit. Which, as you can attest, results in a fair amount of confusion. Which is also, I assure you, completely understandable.” Hank summarized. He crossed his arms and awaited what he had hoped to be a barrage of follow-up questions, but when none came, he added, “The fact that my colleague, Kurt’s mother, and I have been dating for several years now adds an extra layer of complexity.”

Miller blinked a few times before quickly stamping the date on Hank’s receipt. “Okay...well...I should get back to it.” he said, handing the paperwork to Hank. “A pleasure doin’ business with you.”

Hank smiled. “Of course. Thanks again!” 

Miller nodded once and quickly walked into the shipping bay. 

Hank and Kurt walked out of the shop, moving towards the truck they had borrowed for the day. Kurt walked close to Hank, and ducked his head down to whisper in a slightly scolding tone, “Hank! You have confused that poor man!” Hank scoffed and shook his head. “Just tell people you are my step-father. It’s much easier.”

Hank sighed. “I can’t ‘just tell people’ that you’re my step-son, because you’re not my step-son, because Raven and I are not married.” he explained, in a somewhat patronizing tone.

“Well, why not? That part is also confusing for people.” Kurt pointed out.

Hank stopped abruptly. “You’d be okay with Raven and I getting married?”

“No, I would prefer you to continue to live in sin.” Kurt replied flatly, but then smiled when Hank shot him a look.

“Hey! You can’t say anything! You have a girlfriend, too!” Hank teased. 

“Oh? You mean Amanda, who lives in Frankfurt? Who I see perhaps every couple of months?” 

“Maybe our situations are _slightly_ different…” Hank conceded. 

Kurt laughed, and they continued walking towards the truck. “But really, what difference would it make to you what I think? Raven didn’t even raise me.”

“Oh, I don’t know…” Hank shrugged and started searching his pockets for the truck keys. “I guess I just wouldn’t want to make things weird.”

“But it _is_ weird. It’s already weird.” Kurt replied, nodding seriously. “It’s always been weird. There’s nothing you can do about it.”

Hank laughed, shaking his head with a sigh. “Oh, come on. It’s not that weird.”

Kurt raised an eyebrow. “Perhaps we could go ask Mr. Miller his opinion. See what he thinks.”

Hank laughed again and rolled his eyes as he unlocked the truck door. “Get in the truck, Kurt.”

Kurt teleported into the passenger side before Hank could even turn the key.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter's title is a line from the song "Sober" by the band Tool, released in 1993. It's easily one of my all-time faves. I thought it was appropriate for a chapter about how one person may or may not come of of a long coma, and their friends and family agonize over the prolonged period of uncertainty. 
> 
> So, in this chapter, I make reference to Kurt having a sister, and then later to him having a girlfriend named Amanda in 1989. In the comics, it's a *whole thing* because Amanda Sefton is the alter-ego/ pseudonym of Jimaine Szardoz, Kurt's adoptive sister, who he performed in the circus with. Now, because that relationship is complicated and troublesome as all get-out, I decided to minimize the incest by just making Jimaine and Amanda completely separate people. It's not super important, but my HC is essentially that Jimaine is a few years older than Kurt, performed with him as an acrobat when they were young, and kinda moved on and lived her own life when he left the circus. Their relationship is appropriately sibling-like, except for she might have been a little protective over him when they were kids. Amanda is a completely separate woman that Kurt dates long-distance in the late 80's. She is a flight attendant. I hope that's not too complicated.


	3. Nearly Lost You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will Peter come out of his coma? Find out in this chapter. In a flashback, Peter's recently-fractured leg causes him trouble- weird blue kid to the rescue!

“The sticker is probably on the bottom. Why don’t you just wait until the box is emptier?” Ororo called out across the kitchen, as Scott shook the Corn Pops box, turned it, looked inside, and then shook it again for perhaps the dozeneth time.

“Yeah, I know. I’m just kinda curious which one I got.” Scott admitted. “I hope it’s Yoshi.”

Kurt set down his fork after taking a bite of scrambled eggs. “It’s not the one from the game. It’s the one from the movie.”

“Oh. Damn.” Scott muttered in disappointment. “The weird dinosaur-looking one?” Kurt nodded. “Didn’t think I’d ever say this, guys, but I think I’m finally sick of dinosaurs.”

Ororo sat between them and started spreading jam on her toast. “Hmm. Me too.”

“Do you think that means we’re just old now?” Kurt asked, whispering for no reason. 

Scott returned a bewildered shrug while Ororo frowned slightly. They continued eating their breakfast in relative silence when Hank suddenly ran into the doorway, gripping the frame in order to stop abruptly. 

Immediately, Kurt, Scott, and Ororo turned to stare at him, mouths open and eyes wide in apprehension, afraid to speak or move. 

Hank took a few deep breaths, having apparently ran the whole way up from his clinic in the sub-basement. After an agonizing few seconds of being stared at, he finally huffed, “He’s awake.”

Breakfasts were immediately abandoned as Kurt teleported all three others to the hallway just outside Peter’s room, where he, Scott, and Ororo stalled adjacent to the doorway, somehow afraid to move any further. Hank walked into his office up the hall, closing his door behind him. Kurt held his breath while Scott closed both hands into nervous fists as Ororo peeked hesitantly around the doorframe.

“Uh, I can hear you guys.” came the weak, raspy voice from inside the room. 

Instantly, the spell was broken and Kurt, Ororo, and Scott scrambled around each other to pile into the small room, which was already crowded with medical equipment. Scott and Kurt now stood on opposite sides of Peter’s bed, with Ororo shoving Kurt a little to make room for her next to him. They all stared at their friend, who was capable of staring back for the first time in almost two months. His skin was dull and pale, with prominent dark circles under both bloodshot eyes. His lips were chapped and flakey; his hair was a greasy, tangled mess; and one nostril still had a feeding tube running through it. Although he was still covered in layers of hospital bedding, his face and arms showed that he was noticeably thinner. 

“Oh, Peter, you look…” Ororo breathed in a dire tone, until she stopped herself. 

“Well, I feel like shit, so you can go ahead and tell me I look like shit, it’s cool.” Peter finished for her. 

Ororo let out a burst of withheld nervous laughter, which quickly caught on to the rest of the group. “Yeah, you look like shit, man.” Scott confirmed with a broad, relieved smile. Peter gave a half-smile in return and offered a small shrug. 

Once the laughter died out, Peter swallowed dryly and chewed at the dead skin on his lip for a second. “So, uh...Hank told me everything that, um... _happened_.” he started, voice low with regret, as he fidgeted with one of his blankets. He looked up to face Scott. “I’m so sorry, bro. About Jean. I don’t know what the fuck to say.”

Scott smiled, reaching out to place his hand on Peter’s arm, just above where his cast ended. “Man, I am just so damn thrilled to hear you say _anything_.” he said emphatically. 

Kurt drummed his fingers on the metal bed rail. “I was sort-of hoping Hank would let one of us tell you all that…” he muttered quietly, and Ororo nodded in agreement. 

Peter managed a small shrug. “Like, _terrible news_ is just...terrible news. I don’t think it really matters who tells you.”

“You’re probably right.” Ororo conceded. 

“And, yeah, it’s been...it’s been really, really hard.” Scott admitted. He looked up at his two friends across the bed. “But I've had a lot of support...and things are starting to look a little more normal every day.” He shrugged and looked down again. “ _Different_ normal, obviously. But a kind of normal, I guess.” 

Peter nodded appreciably. “Like, seriously, all I remember is sitting at breakfast, and you tryna make waffles-” Peter gestured to Scott with his casted arm, “and they kept sticking to the waffle iron, and then I remember _nothing_ after that.”

Scott, Ororo, and Kurt exchanged worried glances. “That was actually three days before everything happened.” Ororo pointed out. 

“Huh. No shit?”

“Yep.” Scott confirmed, and Kurt nodded. 

“Fuck.” Peter replied flatly. 

Yet another silence fell over the group, until Peter started maneuvering to sit up more, tugging at the sheets and blankets that covered him. “Anyway, guys, I’d love to catch up some more, but I really, _really_ gotta take a piss, so-”

“Uh, I wouldn’t really worry about that if I were you…” Kurt interrupted gently, as Scott winced and Ororo frowned. 

“What?” Peter asked, confused.

“I will leave this discussion to you gentlemen.” Ororo stated, holding her hands up. 

“Uh…” Peter eyed his friends questioningly, and then cautiously lifted up the blanket that covered his midsection, peeking underneath it. “Oh, _what the fuck_!” he exclaimed loudly, dropping the blanket in shock when he finally saw the tubing of the urinary catheter that was still in place. 

“I’m sure there’s a good reason for it.” Kurt assured.

Peter flopped back down into the bed, tipping his head back into the pillow. “Aw, man!” he complained childishly as he covered his eyes with his uncasted hand. “Hank touched my dick!”

“Um, he did a lot more than that…” Kurt started tentatively. 

“That really is _the least_ of your concerns.” Ororo agreed diplomatically.

“Peter, your _insides_ were briefly _outsides_.” Scott summarized.

Peter, if possible, became a few shades paler and donned a deeply disturbed frown. His friends exchanged awkward looks and Kurt drummed his fingers on the bedrail again, until Scott passed a glance at his watch. 

“Shit! I forgot! I have to teach a class in five minutes!” he exclaimed. 

“Oh no! Me too!” Ororo echoed, clenching her fists in annoyance. 

“You know what? Fuck it.” Scott immediately concluded, gripping the bed rail with both hands. “The kids can miss one class. What are they gonna do? Fire me?” Ororo grinned at him from across the bed. 

“Dude, it’s fine.” Peter said as he settled down into the bed, pulling his blanket up. You guys can go. I’ll be here all day.” He huffed a small, self-deprecating laugh. “Doesn’t look like I’m going anywhere anytime soon.”

Ororo reached across him, placing her hand affectionately on his upper arm. “Peter, we’ve waited almost two months for this.”

“Yeah, but, like, now that I’m awake, you’re gonna be sick of me again in, like, a few days.” Peter argued with a smirk. 

“Oh, Peter, don’t talk like that!” Kurt pleaded. “It will take at least a week, I’m sure.”

“Ha! Fuck you!” Peter shot back, and then laughed, which quickly morphed into a dry cough.

Ororo and Scott shared an understanding glance. “Alright. We will go for now. But we’ll be back soon.” Ororo assured. 

“Oh! Maybe I’ll bring us a pizza!” Scott added. 

“Maybe check with Hank to see if I’m, like, allowed to eat solid foods.” Peter said, his voice still raspy from his coughing fit. 

“Huh. Shit. Yeah, I’ll do that.” Scott replied, as he and Ororo begrudgingly left the room. 

As they exited, Kurt waved goodbye to them, but remained at Peter’s bedside. He pulled up a small wooden chair and sat.

“You don’t got class?” Peter inquired. 

“No, not right now.” Kurt assured. “I mean, I do have to arrange the sets for our rehearsal of _Julius Caesar_ , but there are always a few very keen students who like to help me with that. Victor and Santo will make very short work of it, I’m sure.” 

Peter scoffed. “You’re their favorite.” 

Kurt shrugged. “They’re just good students.” He smiled slightly, lacing his fingers together. “They know I always come to visit you in the morning.”

“You came to visit me?”

“Of course. Every day.”

“Why?”

“Oh, you know…” Kurt replied, sitting up in the chair and scratching his head. “To see how you were doing, check with Hank to see if you needed anything, keep you updated about everything that was going on around here…”

“Pfft.”

“I’m serious. I came to talk to you every day.” He looked away with an impish smile, muttering, “I’m actually a little insulted that you don’t remember.”

Peter scoffed again. “My sincerest fucking apologies.” he stated sarcastically. “I was a little distracted by…” He paused to raise the arm that his IV was in. “whatever the fuck Hank puts in this.” He cracked a small smile when Kurt chuckled. He shifted under the blankets, scooting down so his head sank further into the pillow. “So...what all did we talk about?” 

“Oh, different things…” Kurt explained with a shrug. “Ororo and I, and later, Scott, covered your classes for you, so I always liked to let you know how your students were doing. Your track-and-field team is likely to qualify for the state finals this year. You are welcome, by the way.”

“Bitchin’. What else?”

“I’d tell you how everyone was getting along. Kitty and I were working on the Blackbird with Hank. Scott, obviously, had a very rough time at first, but he has been doing much better these past few weeks, especially. Ororo was asked to attend a conference at the United Nations in New York, regarding mutant issues, next month. So we’ve been helping her prepare for that. There was a bake sale last month. It was... _okay_.” He cringed at the memory of dry muffins and undercooked snickerdoodles.

Peter nodded along. “That’s cool. What else?”

“Sometimes I didn’t have any news, so I would just tell you jokes.”

“Fuckin’ _seriously_ , dude?”

“ _Ja_. Anytime I heard a joke, I thought ‘I must tell this to Peter.’ Especially the very bad jokes. Because I know that the worse a joke is, the more you laugh at it.”

Peter grinned, laughing weakly. “Okay, then. Tell me your best, worst joke.”

Kurt smiled proudly, setting his hands in his lap and sitting up straighter. He cleared his throat. “Why was nineteen afraid of twenty?” he asked Peter. 

“I dunno. Why?”

“Because they got in a fight and twenty-one.”

Peter briefly tried to maintain a straight, unamused expression, but quickly burst into laughter. “Holy fuck, man!” he wheezed. “That’s the worst goddamn joke I’ve ever heard!”

“I knew you would like it.” Kurt replied easily with a modest bow of his head.

“You're lucky I didn’t snap out of my coma just to slap the shit out of you.”

“That’s the reaction I was going for.” Kurt gave a smug nod.

Peter smiled pleasantly, staring at Kurt, waiting for him to continue. Kurt looked away, suddenly self-conscious, and scratched under his watch strap. “Sometimes it was just selfishness on my part, too. These last couple months have been hard, and I was just glad to have someone to talk to, who would just listen...in a sense.”

Peter’s brow furrowed in concern, and he took a breath, but hesitated to say anything.

“Jean and I used to talk quite a bit, about the students that needed guidance, who were troubled, or who weren’t settling well. She always knew what to say, how to sooth. I miss that, I miss _her_. I’d come to talk things out with you, instead. It was the same when trying to help Scott, early on. He was in so much pain, and Ororo and I were trying our best to help him, but I knew that it was hard on her, also, because Jean and the Professor were gone, and the three of them were very close. So I’d come down here, with you, and talk about how things were getting better, or how worried I was that they weren’t.”

“...Fuck.”

“I’d tell you how I was worried about Hank, too. I’ve been spending a lot of time with him, because of you, and because of the Blackbird. He’s not coping well. Since Raven died, he’s become angry, withdrawn...but, unlike Scott, he gets resentful if one of us tries to help him or reach out to him. I tried to talk to him about how I miss Raven, too, and he got mad and said it wasn’t the same. So you and I had a chat about that, too.” 

When Kurt fell silent, staring at his hands clutched in his lap, Peter took a slow breath. “Sucks for you that I woke up, huh?”

Instantly, Kurt reached through the bars of the bed rail, wrapping both hands around Peter’s forearm, and looking at him with a bright smile and wide, sincere eyes. “We are so happy that you’ve returned to us, Peter.”

Peter couldn’t help but smile back. “I guess I’ll take your word for it.” He could feel Kurt just barely squeeze his arm in response. He sighed, and added quietly. “I _am_ sorry about Raven, though.”

Kurt nodded and let go of Peter’s arm. “Thank you. It’s been...we always had a very complicated relationship, but…” Kurt trailed off awkwardly, looking away and scratching behind his ear. 

“But still.” Peter reiterated with a shrug. He resolved to change the subject. “So, uh… Hank tells me Charles ran off to go live with my dad?” he asked skeptically. 

Kurt nodded emphatically. “Yes. That’s true. Although I doubt that they’re simply roommates.”

“That’s fuckin’ _weird_.”

“ _Ach_...in some ways, yes, it seems weird. In other ways, perhaps it was a long time coming.” Kurt leaned back in the chair and crossed his legs at the knee. “Your father seems to be doing well, though, so I suppose that’s what’s important.” Peter pulled back with a bewildered expression. “Oh! I called your father regularly to keep him updated on your condition.” Kurt explained quickly.

“You talked to my dad?” Peter asked flatly.

Kurt nodded enthusiastically. “ _Ja_ , every few days.” When Peter just stared back, perhaps even more confused, Kurt added, “He seems nice.”

Peter raised a skeptical eyebrow. “You sure you got the right guy on the phone?”

“Of course!”

“Okay....”

“Kurt! You’re still here.” Hank’s voice resounded from the doorway.

“ _Ja_ , I don’t have class until ten-thirty.”

Hank gave a disapproving sigh. “I know you two have a lot of catching-up to do, but Peter’s condition is still very serious and he’s on a lot of medications. Take care not to exhaust him.”

“It’s cool, big guy. I’m fine.” Peter assured. 

Hank tapped the clipboard he held with his pen. “All the same.”

“I’ll leave shortly.” Kurt replied, and Hank left the doorway with a quick nod.

“You’re in trouble, dude.” Peter teased.

“I’m always in trouble.” Kurt muttered. “I suppose I should go check on my students, though. I can be back for lunch.”

“Don’t even worry about it, bro.” Peter waved him off. He ran the fingers of his uncasted arm over the assortment of tubes and IV lines that ran alongside and over his bed. “I still gotta figure out where the rest of these tubes go…”

“Perhaps you should have a nap instead.” Kurt suggested, as he walked towards the doorway.

“Pfft. I just woke up from a two-month nap. And I refuse to sleep until I figure out whether my dick still works.”

“Maybe you should just ask Hank. He’s spent the most time with it recently.” Kurt smirked, leaning on the doorframe.

“Fuck off.”

Kurt laughed and paused to check his watch, and then peer up the hall. “I’ll see you-” he started as he turned back to Peter, but stopped when he saw that Peter had almost immediately fallen asleep.

******

**X-Men Training Gym. Late 1983.**

Peter limped to the bench and flopped down, wincing and hissing. Hank had told him his leg was healed by now. The bones had mended, it was as good as it was going to get. And, yes, the part of his leg where the bone had actually fractured throbbed with a dull, mostly-bearable ache. But the front of his thigh, deep within the muscle, burned so bad he could hardly walk, after a workout that he would normally have considered a joke. He had broken into a sweat that had nothing to do with his level of exertion. He gripped his thigh with both hands, holding the trembling limb straight out in front of him, desperately hoping that squeezing it would make the pain stop. 

“Oh! Peter! Did you hurt yourself!” 

Peter glanced up to see Kurt, the blue German kid, moving towards him. In a couple quick steps he’s standing at Peter’s side, peering down at him curiously, hands clutched together and tail (weird.) swaying slowly from side to side. 

“Uh, nah, dude, it’s cool…” Peter tried to redirect him. “I guess I’m just a little out of shape now that my cast’s off.” He gave his shaggy hair a toss, trying to downplay the immense pain that still radiated up his thigh. 

“Are you certain? It looks very painful.” Kurt tilted his head, alternating between analyzing Peter’s leg and facial expression with intense, amber-coloured concentration. 

Peter nodded, probably a bit more frantically than he’d intended, and waited for Kurt to move on to something else. Behind them, Scott and Ororo finished up with their workouts and moved towards the men’s and women’s locker rooms, respectively. Jean and Jubilee were on the far end of the gym, chatting next to a rowing machine. 

Kurt clicked his tongue against his teeth and immediately dropped down into a crouching position at Peter’s side, crossing his wrists over his knee. He looked up at Peter, who eyed him warily. “You have never broken a bone before, have you?” Kurt asked, as though he already knew the answer. 

“Nope.” Peter replied with a small shrug, still gripping his thigh with both hands. 

Kurt nodded, and then settled down even further, kneeling on the floor. “ _Ja_ , that makes sense. This is just like when I broke my elbow when I was younger.” He reached for Peter’s shaking, extended leg, pausing with his hands inches away, waiting for Peter to let go of himself. Confused, Peter moved his hands away, holding them up cautiously. Kurt wrapped both large, blue, three-fingered hands around Peter’s thigh, pressing the pad of both thumbs into the muscle, right where the pain was most intense. He held the pressure there for a few seconds, and then slid both hands a few inches higher up Peter’s thigh, pressing into the muscle again. The shaking in Peter’s leg stopped, and the pain began to ebb. 

“This is where it hurts?” Kurt asked, looking up at him as he waited for confirmation. Peter nodded wordlessly, and Kurt smiled and slid one hand downwards, past Peter’s knee, holding his shin. He pressed down on it to bend the leg slowly, and then held Peter’s calf to gently straighten the limb again. Peter, stock-still and silent, watched Kurt move his leg around with great care. 

“So, when you had the cast on your leg, it was stuck like this-” Kurt explained, straightening Peter’s leg out. “But now that your cast is off and you are trying to run again, you are bending it like this a lot-” He bent Peter’s knee, pushing his shin down, until it reached an angle that caused the pain in Peter’s thigh to flare up. Peter tensed, and Kurt immediately moved his leg back into a more comfortable position. 

“The _Sehne_...um, _tendon…”_ Kurt had begun to explain helpfully, placing both hands on Peter’s thigh again, “that runs along _here_ got shorter while your cast was on. Because your leg was always straight.” 

Peter’s frow furrowed and he leaned back a little as Kurt explained his predicament to him. Kurt, who was extremely friendly, _not from here_ , and had apparently _zero_ physical boundaries. Kurt, who couldn’t watch people making out in movies, but had no qualms about kneeling in front of another man for an extended period of time.

“So, if you take things slowly, and focus on stretching the tendon back out, and working on the muscle it is attached too-” Kurt continued, as he bent and straightened Peter’s leg demonstration. He went about this pleasantly and easily, as if he was explaining how to tie a shoelace. His hands are warm, callused, and far stronger than Peter thought they would be. _Fuck._ They slid up Peter’s thigh again, well past the hem of Peter’s grey gym shorts, kneading the tense, taut muscle as Kurt continued to ramble about injuries and ligaments and the importance of a stringent stretching routine. Every so often, he redirects his attention from Peter’s injury to his face, gazing up at him with a warm, kind expression. His stupid new-wave haircut (which he says his sister insisted on giving him) partially obstructs his face with thick, glossy black-and-blue strands. His eyes are huge and sparkling and he smiles widely with way, way too many teeth and _Holy shit_ , is he even sixteen?

“You know what, dude? I think I’m good.” Peter blurted abruptly, shooing Kurt away. 

Kurt leaned back, pressing his hands together. “Oh! I’m not just making this all up as I go. This is what my acrobatics instructor, Ulrich, taught me to do, back in _Der Jahrmarkt_. You see, when I had the cast removed from my elbow, I had a lot of pain and, um... _Unbeweglichkeit_ …” He held his right arm up for demonstration. 

“Uh, what?” 

“In any case, I had to train with that arm a lot, in this manner, to get it to work normally and not hurt.” Kurt hurriedly explained. “Also, as a runner, your tendons are probably very stiff anyway. Ulrich told me that runners are not very flexible. I had asked him if he thought I should start running, for exercise, to increase my endurance, and he said he would prefer it if I didn’t.” Kurt rambled happily, and reached towards Peter again as he finished. 

Peter batted his hand away, probably harder than he should have. “Kurt, man, I appreciate the help and I’m sure you know your shit, but I think I’m just gonna ask Hank about it later.” 

Kurt looked up at Peter, hands now laid easily in his lap, with an expression that was impish bordering on smug. “You can ask Doctor McCoy if you want, but he will tell you the same thing I just told you.” 

“Plus, I can just, like, take a Tylenol or whatever, so-” Peter started, looking away, while placing his hands on the bench in order to stand and start the process of limping to the locker room. 

Kurt immediately reached out, laying a hand over Peter’s nearest forearm. “ _Ja_ , you can do that, but it won’t fix your problem.” Peter’s head spun to stare at the hand on his arm. A wave of annoyance that he couldn’t completely understand came over him as his eyes flicked upward to Kurt’s face. 

Kurt’s smile instantly fell. “I’m only trying to help you.” he pleaded, milliseconds before Peter wrenched his arm away and stood.

“I said fuck off.” he spat, and regretted it immediately. 

“Oh. Okay.” Kurt replied, barely audible, as he hung his head. His tail lay virtually limp on the floor near his feet. Peter instantly felt like utter shit. He opened his mouth to...apologize? explain himself? make a stupid joke? Who knows? Not him. Kurt teleported away before he could even make a sound.

“Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.” Peter grumbled to himself, frowning intensely, as he started hobbling to the men’s locker room. Just outside the women’s locker room, he passed by Jean, who shot him a look- _the_ look. 

“WHAT.” Peter snapped. 

“I didn’t say anything.” Jean replied easily, tossing her hair and looking away. 

Peter groaned and pushed the door to the men’s locker room open so hard it smacked against the wall. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter's title is the title of the 1992 Screaming Trees song. It' a pretty great grunge-era song. 
> 
> In the flashback section of this story, I go on about injuries and stuff for a bit. I'm not a doctor or a physiotherapist or anything like that, so I hope it wasn't too wildly inaccurate.   
> In the next chapter, things should start getting actually *interesting*


	4. I Need an Easy Friend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kurt visits Peter in the med bay. Later, we have a flashback to the 1984 Summer Olympics! (On TV, anyways.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Be warned, there are some descriptions of serious medical issues in this chapter. Otherwise, it's pretty tame.

“Oh, _gut_. You are awake.” Kurt happily walked into Peter’s room, after tentatively peeking around the door frame. He set down the two full canvas bags he had taken with him. 

Peter glanced up from the TV remote that he had been fiddling with. Hank had rolled in a small TV set on a cart, and Peter struggled to find something on at seven-thirty in the morning that wasn’t mind-numbingly boring. “Yeah, dude, just...flippin’ channels…” he grumbled, finally flicking the TV off and throwing the remote down in frustration. 

“How are you feeling today?” Kurt took his usual seat next to Peter’s bed, peering up at him curiously.

“Little better than yesterday. Not so much of a headache.” Peter shrugged as Kurt smiled. “Hank says I might get my feeding tube out today. So...I got that goin’ for me.”

Kurt grinned. “I’ll stop by the corner store to get some Twinkies for you.”

“You better not be kidding.”

“I will check with Hank first, but if he says it’s okay, I will.”

Peter’s face lit up with a child-like glee and Kurt couldn’t help but smile back. He then reached down, picking up one of the bags he had brought with him. 

“I went into your room to get a few things for you.” 

“Awesome.”

“It, uh...doesn’t smell very good in there.”

“Yeah, there might be an old bologna sandwich lyin’ around somewhere.”

“That’s disgusting.”

“Anyways, it’s old news. Whatcha got for me?”

“I have some clothes…” Kurt pulled an assortment of sweats and band t-shirts and pajama pants and socks out of the bag, piling it up on the bed next to Peter’s legs. 

“ _Sweet_! Socks!” Peter exclaimed, reaching for a thick woolen pair. “My feet have been _fuckin’ frozen_. Which is, um...better then not being able to feel them, I guess. But still.”

“I wouldn’t worry about your foot. Since you hit the ground face-first, all of your injuries were to your head and torso.” Kurt pointed out matter-of-factly. 

“...Oh.” 

“ _Ja_. You had a lot of swelling in your brain, Hank said. And some bleeding in the area around it. That was why you were in the coma.” Kurt continued, unprompted. 

“That sounds really bad.” Peter muttered gravely.

“It really was. Hank thought perhaps he would have to cut part of your skull out, because otherwise your brain would start to crush itself. Even after the swelling started to go down, the blood that had built up around your brain was still a problem. Hank thought that if he stopped your medication too early, you could have a lot of seizures, which could kill you or cause more brain damage. We had no idea, until you woke up yesterday, whether you would live, or what kind of quality of life you would have if you did. Hank warned me many times that it was possible that you would be unable to speak, or not know who anyone was, or be paralyzed on one side of your body.” Kurt recited this information almost mechanically. It was new to Peter but it had been Kurt’s everyday life for the past two months.

“Holy shit.” Peter breathed, with a grim look on his face. Kurt just nodded back in response. “So, then, what’s with that big new scar on my stomach?”

“Oh! _That_.” Kurt leaned back in his chair, gesturing towards Peter’s abdomen. “So, when you were injured, you hit the ground very hard. So, internally, this caused a lot of damage and bleeding around your organs. So Hank had to cut you open and move some things around in order to find the worst of the bleeding and fix it before you died.”

“Hmm.” Peter, now a few shades paler, nodded along with his mouth a straight line.

“So that’s why the scar is large. Because it was an emergency, so he had to do everything the fastest way possible. Also, there was some swelling from this as well. So it was actually a few days before it went down and he could actually fit all your parts back into your abdomen. That’s why Scott mentioned that your insides were outsides for a short time.”

“ _Jesus fucking Christ_.”

“Ah! And I brought you your deodorant.” Kurt announced abruptly, pulling the package of Speed Stick from the canvas bag. “And some gum,” Kurt held the package of gum out, but then withdrew it as he added seriously, “which you can have if you promise not to swallow it. At least not until your feeding tube comes out.” 

Peter’s eyes went a little wide at Kurt’s sudden change in subject, but he immediately relaxed at the prospect of being able to have some chewing gum. 

“Awesome! Yes, I promise! Dude, this is _perfect_ …”

“And I brought your soap, shampoo, and shaving supplies, in case you are able to use that shower over there…” Kurt held up the assortment of products in demonstration before gesturing towards the small patient bathroom, as Peter nodded appreciably.

Kurt reached down into the very bottom of the bag. “And I just got you a new tube of lip balm. You had left the cap off yours, and there was some hair stuck to it.” he explained, grimacing, as he opened the packaging of the new plain Chapstick. 

Peter’s face lit up and he reached eagerly for the tube. “Holy fuck, bro. I love you. You’re a lifesaver, you have no idea…” he rambled as he snatched the tube from Kurt’s fingers and quickly applied some. “My lips were, like, _cracked_ and _bleeding_ , and I kept, you know, chewing on all this _gross dead skin_ on them, and that just made them _worse_ , and it, like, fuckin’ hurt.”

Kurt was momentarily distracted by Peter’s unabashed happiness at something as simple as a tube of Chapstick. He leaned on the bed’s side rail, setting his head on his folded arms, and stared at Peter fondly. He remembered how moments like this used to be their everyday norm, and not some kind of magical exception. 

“-and thanks for bringin’ my clothes down, dude. Did you know this shirt is, like, _open in the back_?” Kurt sat back up, raising his eyebrows as he finally noticed that Peter had continued to ramble. “So, like, if I stood up right now, you’d see my whole ass?” he concluded, looking to Kurt in disbelief.

Kurt chuckled. “Yes, Peter, I know how a hospital gown works.” 

Peter scowled a little, and started sorting through the clothes that Kurt had brought him. Suddenly, Kurt perked up, reaching into the canvas bag once more.

“Oh! One last thing.” he said, as he crouched. “Here’s your comb!” He sat up and presented the basic green comb to Peter. 

“Awesome! I need that. My hair is a fuckin’ mess.” Peter snatched the comb from Kurt’s hands and immediately started pulling it through his tangled, greasy silver hair. 

“Yes it is. It also needs to be washed and cut.” Kurt confirmed.

“Okay, Mom.” Peter grumbled as he struggled to get the comb through his hair. 

Kurt watched with interest as Peter finished combing the left side of his head with his uncasted left hand. When he tried to reach over to the right side of his head, his arm trembled with the exertion. He tried to prop up his left elbow with his casted right wrist, but that didn’t help much. When he tried to transfer the comb to his right hand, he couldn’t maintain enough of a grip on it. 

“Here. Let me help.” Kurt offered, standing and leaning over Peter’s bed to reach for the comb.

“Nah, it’s fine, man. I’ll just get it later.”

“It would be easy for me to just get it now.” 

Peter offered little resistance as Kurt easily snatched the comb and started gently combing out two month’s worth of tangles from Peter’s hair. 

“It can’t be that bad.” Peter weakly protested.

“It very much is.” Kurt argued, leaning further over Peter to get at a mass of tangles near the back of his head. “See, you have a mat-”

Kurt hadn’t even realized how close his face had been to Peter’s until Peter picked his head up off the pillow just enough to press their lips together. Kurt froze, gripping the now-motionless comb as Peter continued to kiss him, until he felt warm fingertips graze the back of his neck. A chill ran down his spine, and he felt his face start to heat up at the mere prospect of something soft and present and good. Then those same fingers inched upwards, splaying across the back of his head and curling into his hair. He felt Peter’s lips move, opening slightly and pressing forward, and Kurt responded in kind- kissing him back and bracing his forearm on the bed next to Peter’s head. He gasped at the heavy, scratchy sensation of Peter’s arm cast moving over his shoulder, pressing him down. Their teeth clicked together awkwardly, and Peter immediately took this as a sign to slip his tongue into Kurt’s mouth. Kurt’s tail wrapped itself around the bedrail of its own volition, apparently thinking that the next logical step was for Kurt to hop into the bed as well. 

A sudden ‘beep’ from one of the many pieces of medical equipment crammed into the small room brought Kurt back to reality, even if Peter seemed to ignore it. Startling recollections about brain damage and anoxia and the laundry-list of medication that Peter was still on invaded Kurt’s mind. He knew there was no way to tell if Peter was even capable of making rational decisions. In the ten years they’d known each other, they’d never shared a physical interaction more complex than a friendly hug, and Peter generally preferred to tease Kurt about his romantic prospects rather than _be_ one. There was certainly nothing between them previously that would justify an impromptu make-out session. Peter was injured, a teammate, a friend, and a _man_. Kurt’s stomach twisted with an intense, sudden wave of guilt. It would be wrong of him to let this continue. It was already wrong of him to have let it go this far. 

Kurt immediately shut his mouth and ducked out from under Peter’s grip, stepping away and crossing his arms as he looked away awkwardly. It had taken all his resolve. He wanted it back- arms wrapped around him, a soft and eager touch, lips pressed willingly to his. His face was burning. It was wrong.

“Uh...sorry.” Peter finally muttered, after seconds of hushed mechanical background noise.

“It’s okay.” Kurt replied immediately, trying and failing to sound casual. 

“I just, um…” 

“It’s, fine, really. It’s nothing.”

“But, like, I should probably brush my teeth.” Peter offered, feeling around his own mouth with his tongue and frowning.

Kurt grimaced. “ _Ja_ , probably.” he agreed, before blurting, “Wait. I forgot!” and teleporting away. When he returned less than five seconds later, Peter’s face had looked despondent, but instantly perked when he saw Kurt again. Kurt set a new toothbrush and a travel-sized toothpaste tube on Peter’s bedside table. “I got this for you as well. The things in your room-”

“I left the cap off, didn’t I?”

“Yes, and your toothbrush is older than me, I think. It was time for an upgrade.”

“Aw, I just got it worked in the way I like it!” Peter complained childishly. Kurt shot him a look. “Ugh. Okay. Fine. You win.” Kurt smiled back.

Silence fell over the room again, but this time it seemed friendly rather than awkward. Idly, Kurt glanced at his watch and scowled, surprised at the time.

“Sorry, Peter, but I really do have to go to class now.” he said apologetically. 

“Yeah, sure, man. That’s cool.” Peter nodded, forcing himself to sound neutral.

Impulsively, Kurt reached over the bed rail to place his hand on Peter’s wrist. “I’ll be back, though.

“Whatever you say, dude.” Peter replied, scoffing a little. Kurt removed his hand immediately and walked out of the room.

Before teleporting to his classroom, Kurt walked by Hank’s office, and stopped at the door when he saw Hank hunched over some paperwork at his desk.

Hearing the footsteps, Hank glanced up at him for a split second before looking back at the figures and graphs. “How’s our favorite patient?” he asked flatly.

“He seems to be doing well. I dropped off some of his clothes and personal care supplies for him. He was happy with that.” Kurt explained, with a hand on the door frame.

“Hmm.” Hank nodded, and then took a moment to stare at Kurt over the top of his glasses. “What aren’t you telling me?”

Kurt’s eyes widened and his mouth fell open. Hank wasn’t typically overly intuitive. Maybe he had developed a new skill, now that he was no longer constantly surrounded by mind readers? Determined to come up with a response, Kurt furrowed his brow. “I gave him a Chapstick and he told me he loved me.” he finally blurted.

“Ah.” Hank nodded sagely, and half-smiled as he flipped over one of his papers. “That would be the Propofol talking. That’ll resolve itself in the next day or so.”

“Oh.” Kurt nodded rapidly and drummed his nails on the door frame. “ _Gut_.” 

He teleported away before there could be any followup questions. 

******

**Mansion TV Room. Summer, 1984**

On a hot summer night in the mansion’s TV room, several X-Men were watching the Men’s Gymnastics competition at the summer Olympics with varying degrees of interest. The current event was the pommel horse, and the Japanese competitor had just finished, with the French competitor preparing to start. Peter splayed across more than his fair share of the large, well-worn couch, bored and struggling to stay awake. Scott sat next to him, running a commentary and discussing scores and rankings. The girls were essentially glued to the screen, with Ororo occupying the far end of the couch, Jubilee sprawled out on her stomach close to the TV, and Jean laying across the arms of an old recliner. 

Kurt, Peter noted, was the odd one out, as usual. He perched on the back of the couch, hunched up like some kind of weird blue vulture, with his knees under his chin and his hands folded together on top of them. His tail wrapped neatly around his ankles, the tip twitching in agitation. While everyone else enjoyed a quiet evening of sports programming, Kurt gawked at the TV screen as though he were witnessing a slow-motion car wreck. Peter couldn’t help but stare, watching the reflection of the TV’s images flicker in Kurt’s wide, fixed eyes. Fuck, he’s weird. And it wasn’t just how he looked, either. He talked weird. He acted weird. The food he cooked smelled weird. And now, apparently, he watched TV weird. 

“Why do they get these guys to wear long pants? How are we supposed to see...uh...how, like, their leg muscles are working and stuff?” Jubilee complained, without looking away from the TV, as she clutched a throw pillow under her chin. 

“Trust me, Jubes. They’re working. It’s _all_ working.” Jean replied emphatically, nodding to herself. 

Ororo could only manage an affirmative-sounding grunt. 

Scott chuckled under his breath and shook his head, watching as the gymnast from France finished their routine, and the West German gymnast was up next. Scott watched a few seconds of the routine before looking up to Kurt, immediately pulling back in surprise when he saw Kurt’s agonized expression.

“What’s the matter, man?” Scott asked, reaching up to tap Kurt’s shin. “You mad cuz your guys boycotted?”

Kurt managed to tear his eyes from the TV screen long enough to stare at Scott in confusion. “I’m from _Westdeutschland_ , Scott. Munich is in West Germany.”

“Then what gives?”

“This is a terrible performance.” Kurt stated, gesturing towards the TV. “It’s embarrassing to watch.”

Scott’s brows furrowed, but he said nothing. Peter squinted at the TV, trying to make sense of Kurt’s accusation. He watched the West German gymnast finish his routine, making way for an American competitor. He really couldn't see what the fuss was about, one way or the other. When you eat breakfast with people who can throw cars and make lightning and move things with their mind, then some guy doing backflips or spinning in circles doesn’t really hold the attention. 

Jubilee rolled over, turning to look at Kurt. “Well, according to the judges, the German guy did fine. He got a decent score. He might win a medal, depending on how everyone else does.”

“That makes it worse!” Kurt insisted. “They are all mediocre at best. Poor timing, sloppy landings, shaky form…” He trailed off, shaking his head.

“Hey, now.” Jean interjected. “The Chinese guy got a perfect score.”

“And very nice forearms.” Ororo added, to which Jean nodded enthusiastically.

Kurt scoffed. “It should have been an eight point nine at the very highest.” 

“Hmm.” Scott leaned back on the couch, crossing his arms. “And, what? You think you could do better?”

“I have no doubt that I could.” Kurt confirmed with a nod.

“Now, _that_ , I think, is not something you can say, and not expect to have to prove it.” Ororo pointed out, her finger set on her chin. “Are you prepared to give a demonstration?”

“Always.” Kurt replied, with a tinge of smugness in his voice. Ororo raised an eyebrow and the girls all exchanged conspicuous looks.

Peter was pleased at the prospect of doing something other than watching a boring sports show. “Welp.” he said, slapping both hands down on his knees. “Let’s move this party to the gym!”

Within several moments, everyone had relocated themselves to the X-Men’s training gym and Scott and Kurt managed to drag an old pommel horse out of storage. Kurt ran off to the locker room to get changed, and quickly returned wearing a white tank top and a pair of grey sweatpants. He stood in front of the pommel horse, coiled his tail loosely around his waist, and cracked his knuckles loudly.

“Don’t you need some of that chalky powder?” Ororo called out. 

Kurt grinned. “No!” he replied, before immediately leaping up on the pommel horse, grasping the handles, and pulling himself into a handstand. His legs were perfectly straight, unique toes pointed artfully skyward, until he curled his body smoothly downwards, keeping his legs together, now pointed straight out ahead of him as he gripped the handles on either side. Then, he began spinning his lower body around rapidly, moving his hands between the two handles, and over the smooth leather surface of the equipment. His legs were mostly still held together, except when he would part them wide enough to swing them over the pommel horse itself.

“So, uh...If I tried that, I’d shear my nutsack off.” Scott muttered after the second time Kurt swung his legs over the equipment. Everyone else cringed and nodded, and Jean patted Scott sympathetically on the back.. 

Peter glanced at his friends gawking at the impromptu gymnastics routine unfolding before them, scoffing a little at how awed they all looked. Yes, he had to admit, Kurt’s performance was clearly better than those they had just watched on TV, even to the untrained eye. He moved faster, smoother, more rhythmically. But, as far as Peter could tell, it was still just spinning around and handstands. 

Peter crossed his arms and used his powers to watch the routine in slow motion. Kurt’s plain white tank top clung to him, showing off an incredibly toned physique that was normally buried under long sleeves and Scott’s hand-me-downs.The lean, taut muscle of his arms, chest, and shoulders rippled fluidly under inky blue skin- never shaking, never hesitating, never still. Big deal, what was so impressive about that? Fit, athletic people were a dime a dozen around here. 

Kurt grasped the two handles again, pointing both legs together in front of him, before ducking down and transitioning into another handstand, his hyperflexible spine curving and straightening with a catlike grace. In Peter’s mind, the scene before him was frozen in time. It was pointless to try not to stare at the incredible, unique body on full display. Kurt normally seemed shy, but he moved as though he were totally at ease with himself, his face reflecting the joy he found in his well-honed skills. Despite himself, Peter smiled. 

Once achieving yet another perfectly straight handstand, Kurt spread his legs wide, exactly perpendicular to his body, each long, lean, limb pointed in polar opposite directions. If Peter was staring before, he was leering now. He raked his gaze over the lines of Kurt’s body- narrow waist, well-muscled shoulders, legs for miles. He dwelled on the curling, whip-like tail for an instant before his eyes flicked down to Kurt’s hands, gripping the handles of the pommel horse. The memory of those strong, gentle, one-of-a-kind hands wrapped around his thigh jumped to mind and he felt his stomach twist. ‘Oh, **fuck**.’ Peter thought as a wave of dread and realization washed over him and he forced himself to look at the floor. ‘He’s hot.’

Kurt spun around a few more times before pulling his legs back together and vaulting into a neat, flawless dismount. He then stood, arms at his sides, not even sweating or out of breath but with a fang poking out, waiting for his friend’s reactions. His tail unfurled and swayed rhythmically near his feet. 

“ _Holy shit_.” Jubilee breathed, as Ororo nodded seriously.

“That was fucking amazing!” Scott exclaimed, immediately running over and grasping Kurt’s shoulders. “Definitely better than those other guys!”

“If you think that’s good, you should have seen me on a trapeze.” Kurt beamed. 

“Do we _have_ a trapeze? Can we get one?” Ororo asked no one in particular. 

Ororo and Jubilee walked over to where Scott and Kurt were standing, and they patted Kurt on the shoulder as they all chatted happily. Peter stood awkwardly with his arms crossed, and looked around idly. He frowned when he noticed Jean hadn’t moved, and was currently staring at him with a knowing smirk.

* _Might wanna put your tongue back in your mouth, Peter,_ * rang in his head as her smirk morphed into a full grin. * _before someone slips on that puddle of drool you’ve been forming._ *

His eyes went wide and he scowled back at her. * _I got no fucking clue what you’re on about._ * he projected back to her. Or at least he hoped. Telepathy still confused the everliving shit out of him.

* _It’s okay. It’s not a big deal._ * The voice in his head had a soothing tone now, and her expression softened. * _He’s, like, eighteen...ish. We think. He doesn’t know his birthday so we’ve been ballparking it._ *

He narrowed his eyes at her, his expression shifting into anger. * _Jean, if you don’t get out of my head right now, I’m going to think really hard about that time a raccoon drowned in my neighbor’s hot tub while they were on vacation._ *

* _Oh my God, you’re so immature._ *

* _Stewin’ in a hot tub for a week in August…_ *

* _I’m trying to help!_ *

* _Didn’t know maggots could swim…_ *

* _Ugh!_ *

Jean tossed her hair in aggravation and walked over to where the rest of the team was. Peter stared at his group of friends, still chattering and smiling and laughing. It annoyed him in a way he couldn’t explain, and he turned and started walking towards the door. 

“If anyone needs me, I’ll be in the kitchen.” he said as an afterthought, intentionally too quiet for anyone to hear him. He then sped away before anyone else would notice. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter's title is a lyric from Nirvana's 1989 song "About A Girl." I liked it for this chapter because it seems (to me, anyway. Nirvana lyrics are always a little open to interpretation, I find) to be about a friendship that's started expanding beyond typical "friendship" boundaries. 
> 
> Please note that I don't know a whole lot about gymnastics, so the descriptions in this chapter are basically just the best I can do. I also don't know if maggots can swim, and I'm personally afraid to find out. FYI, Propofol is a medication commonly used to put people into a medically-induced coma, or to sedate them for medical procedures. It's opaque white in colour, and is therefore sometimes jokingly referred to as "milk of amnesia."


	5. Earth Below Us, Drifting, Falling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kurt and Peter have to deal with the events of last chapter. In a flashback, Peter has to deal with commentary from the peanut gallery.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: I mentioned in a previous chapter that Peter had some lingering amnesia from his head trauma that means he forgets most of the events of Dark Phoenix prior to him being injured, and then spends the rest of the movie in a coma. So, when it comes to anything that happened in the movie, Peter really only knows about things that people told him.

“Dude, I can’t believe I was in goddamn _space_ and, like, I fuckin’ _forgot_.”

“If it makes you feel any better, I wasn’t all that impressed with it. I would not rush back.”

“And Hank was tellin’ me that there were a bunch of, like, _aliens_?”

“Well, _ja_ , but they were not the fun ‘ _E. T.’_ type of aliens. They were mean aliens, like from the movie _Aliens_.”

“But still!”

Kurt stopped at the intersection of two corridors in the mansion sub-basement, peering into a long, silent row of offices and storage rooms. He adjusted his firm grip on Peter’s waist, trying to support him while Peter had one arm around Kurt’s shoulders, and dragged a rickety IV pole behind him with the other. 

“I wish you would just have let me teleport you.” Kurt huffed in frustration as they started hobbling up the corridor again. 

“No way, dude. I wanna walk around as much as I can.” Peter argued. “Plus, I don’t know if it’s one of the drugs that I’m on, but I’m pretty sure if you teleported me anywhere, I’d puke.”

“I would rather be thrown up on than experience what will happen to us if Hank finds out.” Kurt grumbled.

“What will happen to _you_ , you mean.” Peter pointed out with a smug grin. “He can’t do anything to me. I’m _broken_!”

Kurt just rolled his eyes as they continued up the hall. They came to a stop at a darkened, locked office. Kurt carefully maneuvered Peter so he was able to lean against the wall. “Just one second.” Kurt muttered as he teleported into the room, unlocked the door from the inside, and opened it. “Okay, come on in.”

Peter walked into the room, keeping a hand on the wall, as Kurt quickly moved behind him and closed the door. He guided Peter to a wooden chair in front of a relatively plain desk that was cluttered with assorted office supplies and papers. “Step away from the door. Don’t turn on the light. We’re not supposed to be in here.” 

“Why not?” Peter looked around the room in confusion as he pulled the IV pole along with him. He flopped down into the chair Kurt had indicated. 

Kurt glanced up from the rolodex he had started flipping through. “This is Raven’s office.” 

“Oh.” 

Kurt quickly found the number he was looking for, and picked up the phone receiver, but paused with his finger hovering over the keys. “Just so you know, I’ve already told your father that you’ve woken up and are now recovering well. I know that Americans sometimes like to have big, dramatic reveals like on daytime TV talk shows, but I think that type of shocking information can be traumatic for some people.”

“Good. Thank you. Holy shit…” Peter nodded rapidly. “The guy’s already lost one kid, I didn’t want to _surprise_ him with whether I was dead or not. I’m not a psycho.”

Kurt quickly keyed in the phone number, and fidgeted with the coiled phone cord while it rang. “ _Hallo_? Yes, it’s Kurt. Do you have a few moments? I have someone who’d like to speak to you.”

Kurt stretched his arm across the desk, holding the phone out to Peter. Peter eyed him hesitantly, suddenly looking very vulnerable. Kurt gave him a reassuring smile, and shook the receiver a little. Peter finally took it from his hand. 

“Uh...Hi, Dad.”

Kurt teleported just outside the door in order to give Peter some privacy. As the minutes ticked by, he leaned against the wall adjacent to the door, eventually sliding down to sit on the floor, with his knees to his chest and his tail idly tapping the linoleum. Eventually, he heard the doorknob turn and the door creaked open slightly.

“Are you ready to go? Kurt asked pleasantly as Peter peeked out of the room. 

“Yeah, I think so.” 

Kurt motioned Peter out of the room and then went inside, double-checking that everything was back in its original place before locking the door from the inside and teleporting back into the hallway. Together they walked slowly back towards Peter’s hospital room, with Peter now holding his IV pole for support. 

“How did that go?” Kurt eventually asked.

“Oh...good, I think. He’s, like...glad I’m not dead or a vegetable. So there’s that.” Peter replied casually. Kurt looked at him, waiting for him to elaborate. Peter stopped walking, turned to face Kurt and took a deep breath. “It almost sounded like he was crying for a bit. Does that make sense?” he asked quietly, brow furrowed.

“Of course it does.” Kurt assured, pressing his hands together. “He was very worried about you. I never, um...is it ‘sugarcoat’? _Ja_ , sugarcoat. I always was very clear about how serious your condition was. Of course it would mean a lot to him to hear your voice again.”

Peter shrugged and started walking again. “Yeah, I guess. You European guys are all ‘in touch with your feelings’ and shit.”

Kurt huffed a small laugh. “ _Ja_ , us Germans are known for our frequent emotional outbursts.”

They walked in silence for a time, until Peter commented in a bored tone, “So, if my dad is shacked up with your uncle, does that make us second cousins or something?”

Kurt burst into laughter, shaking his head as he caught his breath. “The Professor is not my uncle.”

“Uh, duh. Yeah he is. He’s your mother’s brother.”

“ _Ja_ , but Raven didn’t raise me, and the Professor and I have never had a conversation about anything more complicated than a class syllabus.”

Peter shrugged as they came to the door of his hospital room. “I guess. But just because family is shitty doesn’t mean they’re not family.”

“Perhaps you are right. Especially considering that the Professor is probably your step-father now.” Kurt pointed out with a smirk.

“Aw, man!” Peter complained as he sat on the edge of his bed. “ _Another_ step-dad? This blows. I’m too old for this shit.”

Peter slouched, arms crossed, as he watched Kurt plug his IV machine back into the wall. 

“How do you feel now, after going for a walk?” Kurt asked, without looking back.

“Eh. Not bad, I guess. I still feel super weak. But I guess that’s what ‘not moving for almost two months’ gets you.” Peter replied with a shrug. “Plus, one of the meds I’m on makes me really dizzy sometimes. But Hank says I only have to take that for a few more days, if everything goes well.”

“ _Gut_.” Kurt responded with a sharp nod as he walked back to stand in front of Peter. A hush fell over the room, and Kurt fidgeted with his hands briefly, settling on loosely clutching them. Neither of them had mentioned anything about yesterday’s kiss, which led Kurt to believe that Peter had only done it out of an amnesic drug-induced stupor, or -worse- remembered it clearly but regretted it. 

“Peter,” Kurt eventually heard himself say, against his better judgement. “do you remember yesterday?”

“Oh! Yeah-” Peter relaxed his posture, leaning back on his hands and looking upwards in recollection. “Hank let me eat some cereal, and, like, I didn’t immediately die, so that’s good. I watched a bunch of dumb soap operas, I watched a talk show where the guest had a cheetah…” He looked down, and started picking at an adhesive patch above his cast that covered a currently-unused IV line. “I was watching _The Price Is Right_ and I’m pretty sure if I was actually on the show, I coulda won us all a trip to Portland, Oregon-”

Kurt gently wrapped his tail around Peter’s wrist, pulling it into the space between them to stop him from picking at his other arm. “That’s not what I meant.”

Kurt gaped, frozen, as Peter pulled his arm to his face and kissed the loop of tail that wrapped around his wrist. His eyes were closed as he kissed it again and again. Kurt let out a shuddering sigh, and uncoiled his tail from Peter’s wrist, and felt his face heat up as Peter wrapped his now-free hand around the slim, boney limb; running his hand down its length and gently pressing his fingertips into the indentations of Kurt’s vertebrae. “I don’t know. Is there something you’d like me to forget?” 

Peter’s dark eyes stared directly into Kurt’s through shaggy silvery strands. Kurt took a deep, slow breath, his heart pounding as he struggled to respond. In lieu of a verbal response, Kurt let his tail do the talking- threading through Peter’s hand as he brought the soft, pliable spade up to Peter’s face, caressing it softly and running through his hair. 

“...No,” Kurt eventually managed to breath. “I just didn’t want to...read too much into things, or take advantage of you.”

Peter huffed a quiet laugh. “ _I_ kissed _you_ , remember?”

“ _Ja_ , but...you are on a lot of medication…”

“Ha!” Peter grinned and sat up straighter, apparently not paying attention to the tail that now slipped over his shoulder and under his shirt. “The drugs I’m on are what made me watch three hours of _All My Children_ yesterday.” He tightened his grip on Kurt’s tail. “ _This_ is something I’ve wanted for a _long time_.” 

“Oh?” Kurt couldn’t help himself. “How long?”

“Let’s just say a _really long_ time, and leave it at that.” Kurt tilted his head at the vague response, and Peter sighed and glanced downward. “Look, I almost _died_. We all lost... _a lot_ , and almost lost everything. I’m done pretending.” 

Kurt edged forward, standing between Peter’s knees as he held Peter’s face in both hands. Peter raised an impatient eyebrow just as Kurt ducked down to kiss him, softly, and then shifted closer to kiss him more. Peter slipped both arms around his waist, pulling him closer as Kurt’s tail -of its own volition- wormed under Peter’s shirt to stroke his back and shoulders.

The rapid, rhythmic tapping of feet on linoleum startled them both. Peter, clearly, was more startled, because he -apparently for the first time since he had come out of his coma- used his powers to near-instantly move into the bed, lying with his head on the pillow and the blankets pulled over him. His IV line made a whip-like snapping sound and the bedrails clattered with the sudden movement. Kurt was left clutching air, and had only enough time to re-position himself as though he were leaning on the bed railing when Hank stood in the doorway.

“Kurt! You’re here.” Hank stated, looking a little confused.

“ _Ja_. I just wanted to bring Peter a few magazines, and we went for a short walk.” Kurt explained, as he tried to sound casual. “I think it went very well. Don’t you, Peter?” 

“Yeah, it was great.” Peter confirmed with a nod. “I didn’t puke, didn’t fall down…”

“Excellent news.” Hank confirmed. “Kurt, do you know what time it is?” he followed, now sounding exasperated.

“Yes, I know what time it is.” 

“You and Kitty are on the schedule for eleven AM-” Hank started sternly, staring at his watch. 

“And it is not yet eleven, and I can be in the hangar in less than a second.” Kurt followed flatly.

“Yes, but-”

“Should we perhaps synchronize our watches?” Kurt asked, tilting his head and holding up his wrist. “That way, you will no longer worry about me knowing what time it is?”

“I just-”

“Because I have ten fifty-six AM. What do you have?”

Hank huffed and looked at his watch. “Ten fifty-six.”

“ _Sehr gut._ I’ll make sure to synchronize with Kitty, as well, once I see her. At eleven.” Kurt concluded, with a polite, forced professionalism. Peter frowned uncomfortably as Hank and Kurt stared at each other for, what seemed to him, an eternity. 

Finally, Hank clicked his tongue against his teeth and tapped the door frame as he walked away. “Very good.”

Kurt continued to stare at the empty doorway, his posture stiff. Peter exhaled loudly. “Fuckin’ _brrr_ , dude.” he said, shaking his head. “I thought you guys were friends.”

Kurt sighed and slumped, looking down guiltily. “I shouldn’t have been so mean to him. He’s suffering.” he muttered, reaching towards a fray in Peter’s blanket. 

“So are you.” 

Kurt looked to Peter fondly, reaching out to graze his nails softly along Peter’s stubbled jawline. “Less so, now.” he said, before leaning down for a sweet, if chaste, kiss. “I really do have to go, though.” he muttered in disappointment when they broke apart. 

“Ha, yeah. If you were late after _all that_ -” Peter gestured towards the doorway with a smirk. “you’d look like a fuckin’ jackass.”

Kurt shot him an amused yet frustrated look. “I’ll see you later.” he said, before teleporting away.

******

**Mansion Kitchen. Summer, 1987**

It was already mid-morning by the time that Peter, still wearing yesterday’s clothes, wandered into the kitchen. He scratched his head as he lazily walked towards the coffee maker, and turned to just-barely acknowledge the other people already in the kitchen. Scott and Jean sat at the breakfast nook, eating toast and drinking coffee; Ororo stood at the counter, slicing a banana into her cereal; and Kurt sat at the kitchen island, eating a muffin and drinking a coffee while chatting with a woman with bleach-blonde spiked hair, a nose ring, plaid mini-skirt, and a mesh t-shirt with a black tank top underneath. Fuck.

“Laurel!” Peter tried to sound casual. “You’re-”

“Still here. Yep.” she confirmed with a nod. “I was just on my way out, but I got a bit turned around and ended up in the kitchen, where...one of your roomates?” she paused, gesturing towards a smiling Kurt as she tried her best to guess Peter’s living situation. Ororo smiled and nodded to confirm that she was on the right track. “-handed me a cup of coffee and a croissant, and we’ve all just been chatting a bit.” 

“Oh. Okay. Cool.” Peter nodded stiffly. “Well, if you want, we can-” he moved towards the stool next to her, reaching towards a plate of breakfast pastries. 

“I’m pretty much done here anyways.” she interrupted, before she gulped the last mouthful of coffee in her cup and crammed the last bite of croissant in her mouth, chewing quickly. To the side, Scott started snickering and Jean slapped his arm. “Door is that way?” she asked, pointing towards the front of the building. 

“Uh, yeah.” 

She hopped off the stool and grabbed her purse off the counter. She turned back towards Ororo, Kurt, Jean, and Scott. “Have a great weekend, guys! It was nice meeting you! Thanks for breakfast!”

The rest of the gang waved back and smiled, and a chorus of polite goodbyes and well-wishes were heard. 

Peter awkwardly stuffed one hand in his pocket and ran the other through his hair. “So, I can, like, _call you_ -”

“Yeah. Or not.” Laurel replied flatly. “Later.” 

She walked quickly out of the room, and the mansion’s large front door was heard to open and close seconds later. Scott struggled not to laugh as Jean and Ororo exchanged conspicuous looks.

“She’s nice. I like her.” Kurt commented after a sip of coffee. 

Peter scoffed and shook his head. “If you want my sloppy seconds, dude, be my guest.”

Kurt briefly frowned in disgust before redirecting his attention to his blueberry bran muffin. “No, not like that. I’m just saying that I hope we see her again soon.” he explained pleasantly.

Peter slumped, dropping his arms to his sides. “Bro, are you, like, aware of the _concept_ of a one-night-stand?”

Kurt sat up straighter, and opened his mouth to respond, but Ororo spoke first. “What happened to that handsome young man from last week?” 

“Oh! Craig.” Jean offered. 

“Yes, him. I liked him. Where did he go?” 

Peter shrugged dramatically in frustration. “Fuckin’ HOME. Like, I guess.” Ororo just shrugged and ate a spoonful of cereal. “Look, it’s like that old song. They’re here for a good time, not a long time.” he pointed out with a huff. 

“And probably not even that.” Scott immediately followed, to which Jean burst into laughter and high-fived him. 

Kurt frowned. “Does this mean that I should not have invited Laurel to the beach with us next week?” 

“You _what_?” Peter replied flatly. 

“Yeah, Kurt...I don’t think she’s gonna come.” Jean said sympathetically. 

“That seems like a recurring theme for her.” Ororo chimed in. 

“Oooh!” Scott shouted, as he, Jean, and Ororo erupted into laughter. 

Peter scowled silently as his friends laughed at his expense. Kurt pressed his hands together, starting to explain to Peter gently, “Have you considered that perhaps if you got to know these people a little better, you would have more...repeat callers?” 

Peter, still scowling, crossed his arms. “Not really my forte, dude.”

“Take Laurel for example. She is funny and pretty and interesting. Did you know she used to work at her sister’s daycare, but she is going back to school to study journalism?” Kurt awaited Peter’s response while grabbing an orange from a fruit bowl with his tail and clutching his coffee mug with both hands.

Peter stared back blankly. “Nope.”

“In Peter’s defence-” Jean interjected, “I don’t think it’s his personality or lack of social skills that are the problem here, Kurt.” Peter glared at her while Kurt turned to her politely. “Like, not many people would return to an amusement park that only offered a _ten-second ride_ where you can’t _get off_.”

“Oooh!” Scott shouted again, and more uproarious laughter was heard from the entire group, save Peter.

“Okay, you guys can all go fuck yourselves.” Peter stated, arms crossed.

“Alright. Probably still have more fun than Laurel did.” Scott immediately shot back. Beside him, Jean snickered.

Peter ignored him and pointed threateningly at Kurt. “And stop trying to make friends with every random person I bring in here.”

Kurt briefly scowled. “No.”

“Ugh.” Peter angrily sped back to his room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter's title is from the 1983 song "Major Tom (Coming Home)" by Peter Schilling (the English version. It was also recorded previously in German.) I wanted to use this song in one of my fics for ages because I love it, and just haven't been able to justify it til now, and that's only because I made brief reference to Dark Phoenix's ill-fated space mission. So there ya go.  
> In case it wasn't clear from the flashback, I don't think any of Peter's friends judge him for his sexuality or even his frequent hook-ups. They do, however, love to poke fun at how the people he brings home often seem...less than impressed.


	6. Will and Determination and Grace, Too

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kurt meets with Peter, and then does some airplane maintenance with Kitty. There is a flashback to Kitty's first day at the institute!

“Yeah, it’s not on yet. Try jiggling the cord.”

“I already jiggled the cord.”

“Oh. Fuck. My bad. I wasn’t on the right channel.”

Peter sat up in his hospital bed and eagerly pointed the remote control towards the small TV that Hank had rolled in on a cart. Kurt was crouched behind the TV set, trying to plug in Peter’s Super Nintendo. Finally, the Nintendo logo flashed on the screen. 

“Yes! Awesome!” Peter grinned, excitedly grabbing the controller. “Thank you! I was so sick of fuckin’ soap operas.”

“ _Gern geschehen._ ” Kurt moved to the head of Peter’s bed, folding his arms on the railing and leaning against them. He watched Peter set up his video game fondly. 

Without warning, Peter set down his controller and grabbed the collar of Kurt’s striped rugby-style shirt and pulled him down for a quick but hard kiss. The surprise of it made Kurt laugh, even as Peter returned to his previous position and picked his controller back up. 

“I think, uh…” Peter muttered, his eyes glued to the TV screen. “I think Hank’s just in the next room.”

“ _Ja_ , I think you’re right.” Kurt stood up straighter, and looked toward the TV.

“And, um…” Peter started awkwardly, as the TV chimed with various video game sounds. “I was thinking, too, that, like…” He trailed off again, frowning, while staring conspicuously hard at the TV. “I know that, like, I kinda started this whole _thing_ , but I didn’t want to give you the _wrong impression_. Like, I’m not sure what your _expectations_ are-”

Kurt scoffed a little, smiling and crossing his arms. “Don’t worry, Peter. I’m not going to go around telling everyone that you’re my new boyfriend. I know you have a reputation to uphold, as a-”

“Total slut?”

“I was going to say eligible bachelor, but whatever works.”

Peter cracked a smile and looked at Kurt side-on for a split second. “Ha. But really, though- I just fuckin’ suck at relationships.”

“Yes, I’ve noticed.” 

Peter shot him a look. “Don’t stop now. You’re on a roll.”

Kurt smiled, and then sighed and crossed his arms, becoming more serious. “I think it’s just as well, though. After seeing what Hank and Scott have gone through over these past months, I’m starting to think that this lifestyle that we all lead just isn’t conducive to long-term relationships.” 

Peter nodded, frowning. “I mean, yeah. Fuck. You’re probably right.”

A lull fell over the room as Peter started playing his game and Kurt leaned against the bedrails to watch. Peter, as usual, progressed through the game levels faster than the program could realistically process, and he shook the controller in frustration when the next screen took time to appear. 

“Tell ya what really kinda surprises me, though -and, like, don’t take this the wrong way...” Peter started idly, “I thought your church was all strict about, like, gay stuff.”

“Well, yes, but…” Kurt glanced upward in thought, before his expression straightened. “When I go to Hell, it won’t be because I kissed a man.”

“Uh, what do you mean ‘when’?”

“In any case, the Bible contains a lot of very old and very specific rules for a two-thousand-year-old society. There are many, that one included, that I don’t feel are applicable in today’s world.” Kurt explained. 

Peter furrowed his brow, but eventually nodded along, all while still staring at the TV.

“And besides,” Kurt added, perking up somewhat. “Jean and I had a talk about this once, when we were discussing our work as guidance counselors. It sometimes seemed like about fifty percent of the student body was gay or bisexual. Perhaps it is a mutant thing?” 

Peter rocked back, scratching his head in consideration. “Huh. No shit. I never noticed that, but it’s true.”

Peter went back to playing his game, and Kurt crossed his arms and continued to watch him. He smirked to himself and brought his tail up sneakily, slipping it under the rungs of the bed rails and gently running the tip over a thin strip of exposed skin on Peter’s lower back where his shirt rode up. Peter briefly startled, but then tried to suppress a smile, choosing to pretend he didn’t notice. Kurt took this as a sign to continue, moving the spaded end of his tail up the back of Peter’s t-shirt, tracing up and down his spine.

“So, how long have you wanted to kiss me for?” Kurt asked suddenly, barely above a whisper.

“Like, a while.” 

“A year?”

“Longer.”

“Three years?”

“ _Longer_.”

“Since we met?” 

Kurt smiled at the expression that crossed Peter’s face- a little amused, a little guilty. His eyes widened even as they remained locked on the TV screen, and he refused to confirm or deny. 

Kurt let his tail wrap entirely around Peter’s waist. “So, what took you so long?”

Peter scoffed and set down the controller. “Seriously, dude? You were, like, _twelve_. You were a fuckin’ baby.”

“Ha!” Kurt pointed at Peter smugly. “I was almost seventeen, and had been living away from my mother for over a year at that point. You had moved here, fresh from your mother’s basement.”

Peter scowled. “Seventeen is, like, almost twelve.”

“Not where I was from. Seventeen is practically old enough to marry, start a family…”

“Not here, dude!” Peter argued. “I’m, like, nine years older than you. You being sixteen was like...bad. And wrong. And illegal.” Kurt laughed at how worked up Peter became, as he jabbed his bedding with his finger to add, “Go straight to jail, _do not_ pass Go, _do not_ collect two hundred dollars.”

Kurt crossed his arms, smirking. “I’m still nine years younger than you, though.”

“Well, duh.” Peter confirmed, picking his controller back up. “But, like, by your mid-twenties, I figure you’re old enough to make your own... _objectively terrible_ decisions.”

Kurt laughed again, and removed his tail from around Peter’s waist. He did so just as the two of them noticed Hank start fussing with some medical supplies in a nearby storage closet. 

“I really should get to the hangar.” Kurt said, shoving both hands in his pockets. “Have fun being Zelda.”

“I’m Link!” Peter corrected in vain as Kurt teleported away. “The guy is called Link!”

******

“Okay, here we go again- once more should do it!” Kitty yelled out of the open door of the Blackbird.

“I’m ready!” Kurt called back, from underneath the aircraft. 

They had spent almost all day calibrating Hank’s new autopilot AI to the upgraded circuitry that Kitty had created and Kurt had installed. Their current, and last, task was to ensure that the landing gear deployed with an acceptable level of synchronization when the ‘Auto-Land’ protocol was engaged. It was an extremely finicky coordination of hardware and software, and had taken hours to perfect. 

Kitty moved quickly back to the cockpit, and picked up the small digital interface she had plugged into the plane’s console. She deftly typed in a few small changes, submitted them, and instructed the AI to run the ‘Auto-Land’ function. Kurt, who was clinging to the underside of the plane, watched as the aircraft’s landing gear finally deployed in a timely and coordinated fashion. 

“Yes!” he cheered. “You did it, _Kätzchen!_ It worked!” 

“Yay!” she responded joyously. “Now let's get this packed up and get out of here!”

Together they tidied up and packed away their equipment as they chatted idly. Kitty went into agonizing detail about some form of teen drama her friends were experiencing, while Kurt mostly listened and offered small snippets of advice when asked. After they had removed their coveralls and other safety gear, they continued to loiter around the hangar’s locker area, sitting on a bench and talking. After wrapping up their discussion of the ongoing saga of how Julian Keller’s note to his apparent crush was intercepted and is currently held hostage by Quentin Quire, Kitty set her hands in her lap and looked at Kurt expectantly. 

“Oh! And how are things with your friend, since he woke up?”

Kurt’s eyes widened for a split second, but he quickly regained his composure. “Extremely well, thank you for asking.” he replied with a definitive nod. “Peter is feeling better every day, and Hank says he won’t even have to stay in the medbay for much longer. He’s going to have to do a lot of physical therapy and training to get back to his previous level of function, but it doesn’t look like he’ll have any permanent deficits.”

Kitty smiled and nodded, tilting her head slightly, but said nothing. She had a habit of doing this when she wanted him to keep talking. It always worked. 

“I just- It makes me so happy to see him well, _Kätzchen.”_ Kurt gushed. “I think that, maybe, things were so bad for so long, that I started to lose faith that they could ever be better. But now that my friend is healthy and happy...I feel like I’m allowed to have hope again.” 

Kitty returned a wide, sincere smile and placed a hand on his shoulder. “Gosh, Kurt, that’s amazing. I’m so glad to hear that.”

Kurt smiled and looked down bashfully. Kitty reached down to grab her purse, but then turned back to Kurt with a gasp. 

“Oh! I almost forgot!” she started excitedly. “I followed your advice and had a talk with Hank about a work-placement program after I graduate, and he thinks he may have come up with something for me!”

“ _Fantastisch_!” Kurt pressed his hands together, smiling. “Is it NASA?”

“Nope, better!” Kitty replied proudly. “It’s this new mutant-centric research and development operation in England, called Excalibur! The founder is a guy called Brian Braddock, and I guess he’s big into physics and is, like, _old money_. He’s working on this sort of...experimental trans-dimensional super-computer AI that they’re calling Widget. And Hank says I might be able to go work on it with him!”

Kurt leaned back, impressed. “ _Kätzchen,_ that sounds perfect for you!”

“I know! I’m, like, totally blown away! I mean, _trans-dimensional supercomputer_? And I get to _work on it_? In England, where the Queen lives?” Kitty rambled happily. 

“You will be amazing.” Kurt replied seriously.

“Um...the only thing, though…” she started tentatively, looking down at her hands, “is that apparently Mr. Braddock told Hank that ideally I’d go there at the _start_ ofnext year, not after I graduate. I can complete the rest of my classes via correspondence and start work on the project sooner.”

“Oh.” Kurt laced his hands together and looked at his young friend. If what she was saying was true, she would be leaving in just a few short months. They had spent countless hours together over the past two years, and had grown very close. They often ate together and shared inside jokes and he offered her advice and she let him ramble about corny old movies. “Well, it sounds like an incredible opportunity!” Kurt eventually concluded with a nod. “But of course I’ll miss you very much.”

Kitty stared up at him sympathetically. “I’ll miss you too!”

Kurt furrowed his brow as a thought crossed his mind. “Will you be okay being so far away from your parents? England is much farther from Illinois than New York.” 

“Well, um...about that…” Kitty wrung her hands and stared at the floor, her happy demeanor instantly gone. “I was on the phone with mom last night, and...apparently her and dad are getting a divorce, so…”

“Oh, _Kätzchen,_ I’m so sorry.” Kurt replied sympathetically. 

Kitty nodded in response, but did not look up. “So I’m thinking that maybe, like, the further away, the better?”

“No…” Kurt soothed, placing a hand on her shoulder. “Just because they have problems in their relationship doesn’t mean that they love you any less.”

“Uh, yeah, I don’t know.” Kitty practically whispered. Her thick curly hair had fallen down around her face, but the crack in her voice made her feelings clear. “I mean, they’ve always had little fights and stuff, but I’m pretty sure that me being a mutant was, like, ‘the straw that broke the camel’s back’, ya know?”

“Hey,” Kurt breathed, giving her shoulder a small shake. “Don’t say that.” With a soft sob, she pitched forward, burying her head in his chest and wrapping her arms around him. He loosely slung an arm around her while patting her back with his tail as he let her cry it out for a moment, her tears soaking through his shirt. Finally, he sighed. “They’re both very proud of you, I’m sure of it. How could they not be?”

She sniffed loudly, her voice cracking even more. “It’s just like, when you’re a kid, you think your parents are, like, _soulmates_ or something...and now it’s just like their love was, like, _fake_ and they hate each other.”

Kurt sighed again, and placed both hands on Kitty’s shoulders to pull her back enough for her to look at him. She stared up at him expectantly, her eyes bloodshot and her cheeks dampened. “ _Kätzchen,_ one of the hardest parts about growing up is realizing that all the grown-ups in our lives are just ordinary people. People who make poor decisions, act selfishly, don’t appreciate the consequences of their actions...They say and do things that hurt you, even though that’s probably the last thing they would want to do.”

Kitty sat up, wiping her eyes and tucking her hair behind her ear. “Jeez, that, uh....” She trailed off, frowning briefly before clicking her tongue against her teeth. “that kinda sucks.”

“ _Ja_ , it does!” Kurt agreed, with a bright smile and a definitive nod. He stood up from the bench and gestured towards the door of the hangar. “In any case, if you are away in England and you began to feel homesick or lonely, in just a single phone call you could have an entire team of X-Men sweeping down to rescue you!”

She stood as well, laughing as they walked towards the door together. As they entered the long hallway leading them back to the main living area of the mansion, Kurt glanced at his watch and tapped Kitty’s arm with the back of his hand. 

“ _Kätzchen!_ I almost forgot! There is an _Indiana Jones_ marathon on channel seven starting soon, if you want to watch it.”

Kitty grinned and adjusted her purse strap on her shoulder. “Yes! That sounds awesome!”

Kurt smiled in response. “And since we have so much to celebrate, I’ve decided that you may have _one_ beer-” he said seriously, pausing to point at her and state sternly, “as long as it is a _light beer_.”

Kitty gasped. “Omigosh! Really?”

“ _Gott im Himmel_! No!” Kurt grinned impishly. “Ororo would _murder_ me!”

“Arg!” Kitty swung her purse at him, and he laughed and teleported just out of her range. 

“I’ll make us a large bowl of popcorn and we can have sodas.” Kurt clarified. 

Kitty gave an exaggerated sigh. “Oh, alright.”

******

**Mansion Living Quarters- Male Dormitories. Fall 1991.**

“And finally, Piotr, here is your room!” Kurt announced with a broad grin and a sweep of his hand to the quiet, hulking black-haired teenager who followed on his heel.

“ _Spasibo_.” Piotr replied politely, and then stood patiently as Kurt struggled to turn the key the doorknob. 

“Oh- Ha!” Kurt exclaimed when he stopped fiddling with the key and looked at the tag attached to the key ring. “It would help if I brought the right key, _nicht wahr_?” he remarked, before adding, “I will be right back.” 

Piotr jumped in surprise when Kurt disappeared with a loud ‘BAMF’ and a burst of blue/black smoke, and then took another step back when Kurt opened the dormitory door from within the room. 

“There we are. I will fetch your correct key in a moment, but at least now you can set your things down.” Kurt explained to a still-shocked young man. 

Piotr walked warily into the room, setting his meager luggage on one of two twin-sized beds, examining his new surroundings as he did so. 

“And please don’t hesitate to ask for help if you need anything. I’ll leave a card with my office location and phone number on it, on your desk here…” Kurt continued to explain as he set the small card down. “We have many international students now, so if you have any issues with your student Visa, language issues, or even if your belongings are taking too long to arrive- we can help you.”

The very tall, broad-shouldered youth continued to nod along, and sat on the edge of his new bed, which creaked loudly in response.

Kurt cringed slightly. “If you require any sort of... _specially designed_ furniture to accommodate you, we can set that up as well.” he pointed out helpfully. 

“That is very kind.” Piotr replied, stating each word deliberately. 

“Not at all.” Kurt assured warmly. “I will let you get settled, then. Please remember that the new student assembly is tomorrow at eight in the auditorium. There are signs in the lobby with directions. And, again, welcome!” 

Piotr nodded once, with a polite, stoic smile as Kurt turned and walked out of the room. Piotr reached over to his travel bag and unzipped it, and had just started pulling out a few items when Kurt teleported back into the room. Piotr startled, inadvertently tossing a handful of clothing on the floor. 

“And here is your key!” Kurt set the small keyring on Piotr’s desk next to the card he had already set there, and teleported back out of the room before Piotr could respond or even breath. 

Kurt teleported back to a staff lounge, where several tables had been shoved to the center of the room. The tabletops were completely covered with the profiles of the year’s newly enrolled students, along with their dormitory keys and other essential paperwork. Ororo was taking a brief tea-break while looking over the paperwork for her next student while Scott was adding some brochures to the neatly arranged paper stacks. Ororo acknowledged him with a quick upward nod and he smiled back. 

“Who do you have next?” he asked. 

Ororo returned a polite smile and held up the profile she was currently reading, but before she could say a word, Peter appeared instantly in front of Kurt, next to the table. 

“Dude! Holy shit! That kid you were with was FUCKIN’ HUGE!” Peter blurted. Behind him, Scott scrambled to hold down several papers that were disturbed by the stiff breeze that Peter had caused. 

“ _Ja_ , he is large for his age, I suppose.” Kurt replied with a casual shrug, and reached for his next assigned student’s paperwork. 

“Nah, bro. He’s, like, the biggest kid I’ve ever seen!” Peter continued. “How tall is he? Did you ask him how tall he was?”

“No, Peter. That would be rude.” Kurt replied with a frown. Peter scoffed. “And besides, Piotr is from Russia. If I asked his height, he would tell me in centimeters, which would just confuse you.”

“Ha!” Scott laughed, earning an annoyed glance from Peter. 

“We don’t have room for another Peter, anyways.” Peter grumbled. 

“It’s _Piotr_ , Peter. It’s different.” Kurt corrected, and Peter rolled his eyes. 

“There are, like, ten Peters, and you’re not even in my top five.” Scott added, and Peter scowled at him.

“Who does everybody have next?” Ororo called out, just to keep the peace. 

“Uh...Danielle _Moonstar_?” Peter replied, flipping through the sheets in the file he just picked up. “That is, like, a fuckin’ **badass** name. _Moonstar_. God damn.”

“Huh. I have another of the Guthries.” Scott commented flatly. “I swear to God, they could get their own wing at this place. We’re gonna have to put up a statue in honor of their mom’s uterus.”

Ororo laughed before holding up her own file. “Roberto da Costa. He’s from Brazil!”

“Hmm…” Kurt reached over and picked up the collection of paperclipped files and looked it over. “Katherine Pryde. She is from Illinois.” He nodded to himself as he flipped over the pages. “That is not all that far. This should be an easy one.”

Kurt teleported adjacent to the school’s large main foyer, and observed the bustling activity of an entire semester’s worth of students and their families moving about. Returning students reunited with last year’s friends while their families followed along, luggage in tow. New students and their parents gawked at posted signage and expansive wooden architecture. He watched Hank lead a small pack of students on a tour of the campus, while Raven struggled to maintain her composure while listening to a student’s concerned parent’s rambling questions. He glanced up the stairs to the floyer’s second level, where a station was set up that instructed new students and their families to wait until a staff member came to show them around. Jean, who was already up there, caught his eye and pointed to a waiting family with a smile. He smiled back and nodded, and Jean returned her attention to her current student- a lone, petite girl with baggy clothes and short, messy auburn hair. 

Kurt briefly watched the three people Jean had pointed out for him, ostensibly the Prydes. A middle-aged man and woman, well-presented in professional, sensible attire flanked a small adolescent girl in brown corduroy pants and a boxy, too-big denim coat. Her thick, curly brown hair was half-up in a pink scrunchie, and she smiled brightly to her parents as she pointed out the posters and information kiosks that were set up around them. 

Kurt held Katherine Pryde’s paperwork to his chest and teleported up to the second level, immediately approaching the Prydes with a warm, welcoming smile and his right hand extended. 

“Hello, Katherine. I’m Kurt, and I’m here to wel-” Kurt started his usual spiel, but was cut off when Katherine Pryde’s smiling face immediately shifted to wide-eyed, open-mouthed horror. 

“AAAAAHHH” The young girl screamed, backing away a couple steps until she was obstructed by her father. With her hands in front of her face, she fell backwards- _through_ her father’s torso, to the floor, and then _disappeared_ through the floor. 

A loud thud seemed to indicate that she’d come to a stop on the main level below. 

“Kitty!” the girl’s mother exclaimed, as she ran to the bannister and looked over, searching for her daughter. 

“Oh, _Gott im Himmel_ , what happened? Are you alright?” Kurt blurted, and teleported to the lower floor.

“See? This is _exactly_ the type of public spectacle I was hoping we could avoid.” her father complained sternly as he stood behind his wife. 

“NOT NOW, CARMEN.” Kitty’s mother snapped angrily.

A small crowd of people stood watching and murmuring as Kitty started to pick herself up off the hardwood floor. With a loud ‘BAMF’ to her left, those same people gasped as she felt a hand gently lift up her elbow. She glanced upward to find Kurt Wagner once again, crouching at her side. 

“I’m sorry to startle you. Are you hurt?” 

She shrieked again, scrambling away frantically, managing to get her feet beneath her just in time to dive headlong into the closed, locked door of a nearby utility closet. She phased easily through the heavy, solid wood, disappearing from view.

As the surrounding crowd gathered and began to whisper, Kurt stood, thoroughly shocked, with his arms at his side. Kitty’s mother, having just bounded down the stairs, ran up beside Kurt and knocked incessantly on the door. 

“Go away!” Kitty cried from within the closet. 

Kurt started backing away, hands held up in front of him. “I’m sorry. I just- I didn’t mean-”

“Kitty, it’s okay, dear.” Theresa Pryde spoke into the door soothingly. “You can come out now.”

“Is he gone?” a small voice asked. 

“Kitty, honey, he works here.” 

Kitty’s father walked up beside Kurt, rolling his eyes and shaking his head in disgruntlement. Kurt turned to him, deeply mortified. “I- I’m sorry. I, um...forget sometimes…” he muttered, looking down at his compulsively wringing hands. His tail had wrapped tightly around his ankle. Carmen Pryde just shrugged in response, as though this whole ‘mutant’ thing was just one pain-in-the-ass after another.

Suddenly, the solution came to Kurt’s mind, clear as day. He stood straighter, and pressed his palms together. “Please excuse me. I can fix this. Don’t go away.” he begged, before teleporting away.

Ororo stood near the door of the gymnasium, where a number of new student orientation information kiosks were arranged; describing sports teams, extracurriculars, study sessions, and student activist groups. She watched Roberto da Costa wander through the rows of tables and posters, checking her watch idly, when she heard a sharp ‘Psst’ sound. She looked around, eyebrow raised, and tried not to laugh when she noticed the leaves of a nearby ficus rustling. She looked over at Roberto, who was chatting with the editor of the school newspaper, and then quickly walked over to the plant.

“Kurt, what are you doing behind there? It’s not a great time for hide-and-seek.” she scolded with a laugh. 

“Ororo, I need a favor!” Kurt blurted, still partially obscured by leaves. 

“Oh?” She crossed her arms, intrigued. 

“Yes. A big favor. A huge favor, actually. Possibly the largest favor ever given, in the history of favors.” 

“Hmm. I’m intrigued. What’s in it for me?” she asked coolly, examining her burgundy nail polish. 

“Literally anything that’s in my power to provide.” Kurt stated unequivocally. Ororo smirked and crossed her arms, waiting. “I need you to trade assignments with me.” he whispered, after looking both ways.

Ororo turned her head, checking that Roberto was still chatting away to another student. “Why? What’s wrong with yours? Mine is annoying. Yours sounded easy.” 

“She, um…” He looked at his feet, hunching with his arms crossed. “She had a bit of a _reaction_ …”

Ororo straightened, suddenly very serious. She had seen him act like this a few times before, and there was only ever one reason for it. She set a hand lightly on his shoulder. “Are we sure it wasn’t just a simple misunderstanding?”

“ _Ja_ , very sure.” he replied immediately, while he still stared at the floor. His tail was still firmly around his ankle.

“Hey.” she said, just to force him to look at her. “Kurt, you _live here_. We are well beyond you hiding from-” She flung her arm out quickly to indicate the busting assortment of students, parents, and staff. “these people.” 

“Ororo, there is a little girl locked in our utility closet right now.” 

He held her gaze, his brow furrowed and his mouth a straight line, but he holds his hands as though he’s actually begging. She sighed and looked back at Roberto again, who appeared to be finishing up with his conversation and preparing to move along. 

“Okay.” she finally conceded. “Okay, fine. Take this.” She handed him her files on Roberto da Costa, as he handed her the files on Katherine Pryde. “He’s that one, right there. Once he’s done here, you go to the library before you go to the dormitory.”

“You are a lifesaver.” Kurt breathed emphatically, and she walked away, shaking her head.

Later on that evening, Ororo wandered back to the dimly-lit staff lounge to find Kurt alone, arranging the paperwork for the next day’s orientations. 

He smiled slightly when he saw her enter the room, but continued arranging files in silence.

She sat down in a nearby chair, situated next to a table with a small lamp, the room’s only current source of light. “How did you get along with Roberto?” she asked, crossing her legs. 

“Oh, well enough, I suppose.” Kurt replied, smirking slightly. “His family has some money, apparently. Or so he kept saying.”

“Ha! Yes, he may have mentioned that, one or a dozen times.” she replied with a smile, resting her elbow on the table. 

After what was, between them, a rare uncomfortable silence, Kurt glanced up briefly. “How did you get along with Kitty?”

“Very well, actually.” Ororo replied carefully, nodding. “I was able to get her... _resituated_ in no time, and the rest of her orientation went smoothly.”

“I knew she was in good hands.” Kurt gave a polite smile. 

“She’s a very sweet girl, actually.” Ororo added, noting how Kurt froze momentarily. “She’s apparently extremely bright, as well.”

“Oh, I’m sure.” Kurt said immediately, now fussing with the paperclips on the files he held.

“I explained everything to her. About you, I mean.” Ororo continued, and paused, hoping Kurt would say something. He did not. “She feels terrible about the whole situation.” Another pause. Still nothing. “She said she would like to apologise.”

“That’s really not necessary.” he muttered quickly, just barely loud enough to hear.

“Well, I disagree. I think it would be good for both of you.” Ororo countered, sitting up straighter and crossing her arms.

“What would be best is to just move on and pretend it didn’t happen.” He still stared at the stack of papers in his arms, but his voice has an uncharacteristic sharp edge to it.

“You know that’s impossible.”

He could only give a small, dismissive shrug.

“Just let her say that she’s sorry, and once the two of you get a proper introduction, she’ll see that famous ‘Incredible Nightcrawler’ charm, and that will be that.” Ororo explained simply, with a sweep of her hand. 

“If that’s what you think is best, then that’s what we’ll do.” he replied, in a forced professional tone.

Ororo sighed, slumping into her chair. “You’ll win her over. You always do.” 

“Because being welcome in my own home is something that I constantly need to be prepared to fight for, and is possible for me to lose.” He looked up from the files still clutched in his arms, and made eye contact with her for the first time since she’d entered the room. His body had faded into the darkness almost entirely, but the scant amount of light from the small table lamp near her elbow was reflected and seemingly amplified by his amber eyes. 

Her jaw tensed, and she took a deep breath. “Nobody said that.”

“Of course not.” He immediately averted his eyes again, and quickly arranged a few files on the tabletop. “In any case, I’m sure I’ll see her at the assembly tomorrow. Thank you for your help this afternoon.”

Ororo brought a hand up, wanting to respond so badly, racking her brain for something to say, but nothing came to mind. She tapped her nails on the table a couple of times, and then quickly left without saying another word. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter's title is a lyric from "Grace, Too" by the Tragically Hip. It's a cool, confident, sexy rock song by one of my favourite bands of all time. It was released in 1994, which is the year after this story is supposed to take place. Normally I'm pretty strict with myself when it comes to picking era-appropriate songs, but this one just slipped past me and I like it too much to bother changing it. So I'm going to pretend that this story takes place in an alternate universe to ours, where the only difference is that mutants exist and The Tragically Hip released this song on an earlier record. 
> 
> Included in this chapter is the start of my (likely bungling) attempt to tie *movie stuff* to *comic stuff.* The original 1988 run of Claremont's Excalibur with Alan Davis's artwork was amazing!
> 
> I don't wanna make any promises, but next chapter may actually earn the story's M rating...


	7. Human Behaviour

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kurt and Peter keep themselves occupied while Hank is in a conference call. There is a flashback to Kurt and his siblings during their circus days.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The "flashback" in this chapter takes place in Germany, and features conversations between German people. So if we could all just pretend that the conversation is actually taking place in German, rather than me having to go and awkwardly Google-translate all the dialog, then that would be swell!  
> Note: There is some sexual content in this chapter.

It was just after breakfast and Peter was watching a mind-numbing morning talk-show program as he idly scratched under his forearm cast with the tines of a fork he had kept from his breakfast tray. As he watched bland, vapid discussion about a guest chef demonstrating how to make a marshmallow-and-Cool Whip-based dessert, he dug the fork deeper and deeper under his cast. He yelped at the loud ‘BAMF’ to his right, but then glared in annoyance at Kurt standing next to his bed. Kurt, in turn, was staring with clear disapproval at the handle of the fork that jutted out from the edge of Peter’s cast. Without saying a word, Kurt reached out with his tail to pluck the fork out and set it out of Peter’s reach. 

“Good morning to you, too.” Peter grumbled.

“ _Guten Morgen_.” Kurt replied pleasantly. “How is your day going so far?”

“Oh, well...let’s see…” Peter started sarcastically. “All that’s on TV is either _this_ , or an interview with some dumb guy about some crap movie I don’t wanna see. But Hank did tell the lunch lady to give me _two_ poached eggs with my breakfast, so that was cool.”

Kurt nodded along.

“Oh! And I took a shower this morning, even though I got really dizzy, and had to finish showering by sitting on the tile and trying not to throw up.” Peter concluded, holding his head up with a sense of accomplishment. 

“Good for you.” Kurt replied, only faintly patronizing, as he reached forward to rake both hands back through Peter’s still-damp hair. Peter instantly relaxed with a sigh, passively letting Kurt play with his hair, closing his eyes and blushing heavily. The bedrail creaked as Kurt leaned over it, and Peter moved only when he felt Kurt press their lips together. He responded desperately, immediately slipping his tongue into Kurt’s mouth and feeling the pointed edges of his teeth, and roughly grasping at Kurt’s shirt with his good hand to try and pull him closer. His casted hand ran feebly up Kurt’s side, feeling taut muscle moving under at least two layers of cotton. 

Peter hardly registered when Kurt hopped deftly into the bed, landing with a knee on either side of Peter’s hips. He was completely consumed by the tongue that now explored his mouth, the fangs that just barely nipped at his lips, and the strange hands that ran through his hair and over his neck. Kurt sat up slightly and pulled his hands away, to reach behind the back of the hospital bed to grasp the lever that lowered the head of the bed from a sitting to a lying position. There was a clatter as they both fell together, and Kurt laughed at Peter’s surprised grunt and questioning look. 

“Hank is in a conference call. He will be a while.” Kurt explained, tucking Peter’s hair behind his ear and running his thumbnail along his jaw. Peter’s confusion evaporated and he wrapped both arms around Kurt’s neck, trying to pull him down on top of him in an act of pure need. Kurt met him halfway, leaning in to kiss him while still keeping his weight supported on his knees, and on his hands now braced on either side of Peter’s head. Peter tried his best to entangle their legs when he felt Kurt’s tail coil itself around his thigh, and fisted his fingers into Kurt’s shirt when he noticed Kurt try to move out of his grasp. 

Kurt kissed down Peter’s jaw and neck, scooting down the bed inch by inch, until he was obstructed by the neckline of Peter’s Primus t-shirt. He slid down further and brought himself up on his knees, out of Peter’s grip. Peter propped himself up on his elbows as Kurt ran both hands roughly over top of Peter’s chest, before grabbing the hem of the t-shirt and pulling it up to his collarbone. 

Peter glanced down, cringing. Even when he had showered earlier that morning, he had avoided looking at his own body. He had changed so much from the reflection in his memory- he had lost significant muscle and collected an assortment of new scars. Kurt didn’t share this new aversion- he exhaled slowly as he moved his hands gently and reverently over the curve of each rib, over bruises of every colour, alongside the thick and angry pink scar that bisected Peter’s navel. He paused with those strong, unique hands on either side of Peter’s hips, running the pad of his thumbs over the arc of bone. His golden eyes raked over Peter’s exposed flesh and spreading blush.

“You are so beautiful, Peter.” he breathed, in a hushed, adoring tone.

Peter, unable to form a sentence, panted and slid his hand up Kurt’s thigh. He realized too late that there was no way he could hide his now-glaringly-obvious erection that strained against the thin flannel of his pajama pants. Peter watched Kurt’s eyes flick downward to his groin and saw the spaded end of Kurt’s tail unravel itself from his thigh enough to experimentally rub up and down the length of his cock overtop of his clothes. The contact, however slight, made Peter hiss and jerk his hips up involuntarily. Kurt tightened his grip on Peter’s hips for a split second- someone without Peter’s powers probably would not have even felt the pointed ends of Kurt’s nails digging into his skin. Their eyes met and Kurt’s glinted impishly as he grasped the waistband of Peter’s pants and pulled them downward. Unrestrained, his cock sprang out almost comically. Kurt stared at it as it twitched against Peter’s stomach for what seemed like forever, until he took long, deep breath. Then, at a speed that even Peter found impressive, he moved downward in the bed, wrapped a loop of his tail around the base of Peter’s erection and plunged the rest into his open mouth.

Peter threw his head back into the pillow, biting his lip to stifle a gasp. The hot, wet mouth on him moved tortuously slow, but the undulating rhythm of the tail wrapped around his shaft was unlike anything else. The _sound_ of it, the broad three-fingered hand that spayed across his chest, the humming of his own heart in his ears- it was almost too much. Soft lips closed firmly around him as Kurt’s tongue moved over the underside of his dick, with the wet, textured surface of his mouth sliding over the head. Peter stared up at the ugly, boring ceiling tile in a feeble attempt to not finish too soon. Unable to help himself, he raked his fingers through Kurt’s thick, inky black hair- twisting them hard into the wavy strands. He moved his hand along with the motion of Kurt’s head at first, and then a little faster- pulling his hair just enough to guide the rhythm. Kurt took it all easily, he didn’t flinch or slow down, even as Peter thrust his hips with an increasing urgency. 

“Oh...ah, fuck-” Peter muttered, trying as hard as he could to keep relatively quiet. His chest heaved rapidly, and he lay his cast over his mouth to try and muffle a loud moan. He was probably broadcasting to every telepath within a five-mile radius, but that was beyond his control. He was so close he was shaking. He had clenched his eyes shut, but dared to look down. The sight of Kurt on his knees, head bobbing rhythmically, with that long, lean body bowed over his... it was better than every fantasy. Peter tightened his grip on Kurt’s hair, tugging his head up just enough that their eyes met. Kurt’s amber gaze was intense, wanton, smoldering- Peter had never seen him look at anything the way he was looking at him right now. It made something twist in his stomach and he felt a little powerless. His eyes flicked downward next, to where his shaft disappeared into Kurt’s mouth. Somewhere deep in the back of Peter’s brain, he knew it wasn’t healthy or wise to be so turned on by how his cock was tightly framed on both sides by four long, white fangs. But it was probably the hottest thing he had ever seen, it was more than he could have ever imagined. It was too much at once and he came hard down Kurt’s throat as he pulled his hair even harder, and bit into the plaster of his cast to keep from shouting.

Peter lay with his eyes closed, gasping and muttering “Holy fuck.” under his breath, for a time until he eventually tugged his clothes back into place. Kurt hopped out of the bed just as lightly as he had hopped into it, and Peter cracked an eye open just in time to see Kurt wipe his mouth on his sleeve and smooth out the hair that Peter had pulled. Peter watched him shift his weight on his feet awkwardly, looking down as though he were embarrassed or possibly regretful. The thought of it gave Peter a sharp pang in his chest, and he instantly sat up, wrapped both arms around Kurt’s middle and attempted to haul him back into the bed. 

“C’mere-” Peter breathed lowly as Kurt jumped in surprise. 

“Peter!” Kurt couldn’t help but laugh at Peter’s uncoordinated manhandling, and tried to wriggle out of his grasp. “What are you doing?”

Peter brought himself up higher, grabbing the back of Kurt’s head and pulling him into a hard, deep kiss. “Come on, just get in the bed.”

Kurt smiled, tilting his head and laughing again, as he slung his arms loosely around Peter’s shoulders. “Why?”

“Because I’m not the kind of asshole who doesn’t reciprocate.”

“It’s not as if I expect-”

“Shh. Zip it. Just get in here.”

“I don’t want to squish you.”

Peter let out a short burst of laughter. “You skinny bastard, you couldn’t squish a cockroach.”

Kurt pulled back and crossed his arms, expression now serious. “You had a lot of cracked ribs, Peter.”

Peter slumped, giving Kurt an exasperated look. “Good thing you strike me as the ‘gentle’ type, then.” Kurt, equally exasperated, smiled and shook his head. Peter sat cross-legged, and scooted towards the opposite site of the bed. “See? Look! Plenty of room!”

Kurt, still smiling, glanced at his watch. “In any case, we don’t have a lot of time.”

Peter grinned smugly. “ _Lucky for you_ I'm the fastest man on the planet.”

Kurt smirked. “Oh. Well, then, I change my mind. That sounds very appealing.”

It took Peter far longer than it should have to realize he was being sarcastic. 

Kurt stepped forward, affectionately running his fingers through Peter’s hair again. “It won’t be too long until you are back in your own room, _nicht wahr_?” He leaned a little closer, lowering his voice. “With all that extra space and privacy? I don’t mind waiting until then.”

Peter sighed and finally acquiesced, placing both hands on Kurt’s waist. “Okay. Fine. Have it your way.” He looked down, running his knuckles up and down Kurt’s side. “‘Nother week or so, and you’re gonna be in for… _a world of disappointment_.” Peter chuckled a little at his own expense. “Y’know, if we’re being honest.” 

Kurt held Peter’s face in his hands. “I can’t wait.” he replied, completely sincere, before giving Peter a quick kiss and teleporting away.

******

“So, the question that remains is ‘How do we surpass the Hayflick limit? Well, our recent work-”

“That’s just called ‘having cancer,’ Tim. You ‘surpass the Hayflick limit’ by getting cancer.”

“Obviously, I’m not talking about _cancer_ , Martha. I’m talking about telomerase activation sequences. Recently, my students-”

Hank rolled his eyes and added another paperclip to the already-lengthy chain of paperclips he had been constructing since the start of his conference call with a few other noted geneticists. Dr. Tim Ohara was a former colleague and an old friend, but his insights on the latest genomic research were as dull as they were derivative. And Dr. Martha Castano has had it out for Tim ever since her favourite graduate student left her lab to join his. Another scientist on the conference call, Bob, was someone who Hank had never met and had never been introduced to, and as such Hank didn’t know his work or even his last name. Fortunately, Bob hadn’t said anything worthy of discussion for the entire call. 

Hank sat back in his chair and rubbed his eyes as Tim and Martha devolved into petty bickering _again_. Bored and tired, he glanced over to the small TV screen that sat on the corner of his desk. It displayed poor-quality, black-and-white images from the medbay, and cycled through the viewpoints of several different security cameras. He had the system installed several years ago, after a delirious patient of his decided to rip out their urinary catheter with all the enthusiasm of a person starting an outboard motor. At the moment, he really only had Peter to worry about. Peter had been recovering remarkably well, but he was not completely healed yet, and Hank knew better than to trust his patients when they said they ‘felt fine.’

Hank squinted at the blurry greyish-blue screen as Peter’s room appeared. Peter was sitting up in bed, picking at his cast and watching TV. Good. Immediately before the screen flicked to the next camera feed, Hank noted that Kurt teleported to the side of Peter’s bed. Even better. He could always rely on Kurt to keep Peter from making poor decisions. He knew he could relax as long as Kurt was around.

“Yes, we’re _all_ familiar with McClintock’s work, Tim, but if you had read the most recent issue of _Nature_ , you’d realize-” Martha’s voice rang out from the conference phone, and Hank sighed again. He started the process of disassembling one of his many pens, just so that he could re-assemble it. He glanced towards his TV screen again, and lurched forward in surprise at what he saw. Kurt now straddled Peter’s body, and the camera angle made it so much of Peter’s form was obscured by Kurt’s back. Was Peter perhaps choking or having some sort of seizure? Hank considered jumping up and running up the hall to check, but he breathed a sigh of relief when he saw Peter’s hand grip Kurt’s shirt. At the very least, Peter was conscious and mobile. Were they perhaps fighting? Play-fighting? They both liked to watch those idiotic professional wrestling programs. The camera view changed before Hank could get a clear answer. 

“There are _several_ examples of living organisms that do not demonstrate cellular senescence, Martha.”

“Oooh, like a sponge. Whoop-dee-do. _Clearly_ the secret to eternal life.” 

Hank ignored his colleagues and peered at the TV screen, anxiously waiting as it cycled through the various camera viewpoints. When Peter’s room finally re-appeared on screen, Hank’s eyes popped open, and then narrowed as he stared in shock at the small screen. Clearly, Peter was not choking. Hank, baffled, gawked at the grainy image of Peter’s face contorted in ecstasy, and then followed the line of his arm, to where his stark-white fingers splayed into Kurt’s pitch-black hair, and the rhythmic bob of the young man’s head was completely unmistakeable. Hank was struck with an overwhelming feeling that he was witnessing something he couldn’t be, and - when he couldn’t _just look away_ \- scrambled to find something to obscure the screen. In his haste, he knocked over a cup full of pens, and a mug that contained the dregs of yesterday’s coffee. 

“Shit! Darn! Oh, my stars and- Dammit!” he muttered involuntarily as his attempt to mop up spilled coffee resulted in the mug rolling off the desk and shattering. Finally, he managed to grab a large textbook on teratology and prop it up in front of the TV screen. 

“Is everything alright there, Hank?” Tim’s voice asked.

“Uh...yes. Yes, thank you, everything is fine.” Hank managed to sputter. “A...cat walked across my desk.” he offered lamely in explanation, and then slapped his hand against his forehead as he cursed his own stupidity. 

“Oh! Henry, did you get a cat?” Martha asked pleasantly. 

“Uh, no…” Hank replied, flustered, as he tried to tidy up the mess of office supplies on his desk. “It’s, uh...a student’s cat?”

“I have a cat.” Bob chimed in. 

“That’s great, Bob.” Hank replied flatly, and then collapsed into his chair, giving up on the mess entirely. 

*****

**Winzeldorf, West Germany. Summer, 1982**

Jimaine Szardos sat at the kitchen table in her family’s caravan, crouching in order to see her reflection in the small mirror she had propped up against the wall the table was positioned against. She ran her fingers through her already-thick wavy blonde hair, and used a small comb to try and tease it even bigger. After fastening a portion of it back with a large hair clip, she doused the arrangement with copious amounts of hair spray. She burst into laughter when her younger brother, who had been just out of her line of sight, broke into a coughing fit. 

“Kurt! What are you doing lurking around here?” she asked with a smile, and adjusted the mirror so that she could see him.

Kurt sputtered and cleared his throat. “I’m looking for a safety pin.”

“Oh! I have one in my makeup bag. What do you need it for?”

“To pin this shirt closed. It’s missing a few buttons.”

Jimaine turned around in her chair to stare Kurt up-and-down, narrowing her eyes at the shirt in question. It was threadbare, out-of-fashion, and -yes- missing several buttons. 

“Ugh. Kurti, that shirt is hopeless. Throw it in the pile there. Mama will use it for rags.”

“I can’t!” Kurt protested. “It’s one of the only ones left that fits.”

Jimaine frowned. “It _does not_ fit.”

“It does!”

“Do this-” Jimaine held both her arms straight out ahead of her. Kurt begrudgingly copied her, and the cuffs of his shirt pulled halfway up his forearm. “You see?” she replied, smiling smugly. 

Kurt looked down, frowning, and tried to tug his sleeves back down.

“What difference does it make? That shirt wasn’t even new when Stefan got it. It’s no big loss.” She stood, and moved behind Kurt, nudging him so that he stood in front of the small mirror, and she stood behind him. She was a relatively petite young woman, and it seemed her younger brother was growing by the day. She picked at his shirt, drawing attention to how poorly fitted and worn out it was. She leaned around him, their eyes meeting in the reflection. “Tomorrow, you and Mama and I will go into town and find you some clothes that fit. It will be fun.” 

Kurt slumped and wrung his hands. “Stefan will not be happy about that.”

“Ach, what Stefan doesn’t know won’t hurt him.” Jimaine scoffed. “He’s just jealous because you’re taller than him now.” Kurt huffed quietly and looked downwards, at the same instant Jimaine grabbed him around the middle and shook him. “Arg! You’re so big now! I can’t believe I used to carry you around!” Kurt laughed in surprise and tried to twist away from her. She grabbed the back of the chair she had been using and pulled it away from the table. “Sit.” she ordered, and he did so.

She peered over his shoulder at his reflection in the mirror, and she raked her hands through his shaggy, wavy black hair. “If we are getting you better clothes, then you will also need a new haircut.”

Kurt groaned. “I don’t want one! I want to grow it out like Stefan does.”

Jimaine scowled. “Our brother looks like he lives under a bridge.” she replied sharply. She toyed with her younger brother’s hair, re-positioning the part and holding pieces of it back. “You need something more sophisticated. Modern.” She reached into a nearby shelf to grab a fashion magazine she had recently bought. “Pick something from here.”

Kurt flipped through the magazine and grimaced. “They’re all so... _flashy_.”

“Of course. We are, after all, in show business.”

Kurt smiled warmly and looked up at her, handing her the magazine. “Can you pick for me? You know what looks best.”

Jimaine beamed. “I was hoping you would say that!” Within seconds, she had a pair of scissors, a comb, and a towel in her hand. She went to work immediately, throwing the towel over his shoulders and combing his hair. She sighed wistfully. “I remember that night you came to us, Kurti. Not very clearly, but I do…” she spoke idly as she started to snip the scraggly ends off his hair. “And now it seems like you’ve become the tall, dark, and handsome stranger that Mama tells lonely women they have to look forward to in their future.”

Kurt scoffed and looked down bashfully. “You make it sound like she’s been trying to match me up.”

“Perhaps she has been. I wouldn’t be surprised.” Jimaine replied with a small smirk. “In any case, it won’t be too long until some nice young girl comes and takes you away from us.”

Kurt paused in silence for a few seconds. “Why would I have to leave? Why could I not keep touring and performing with the rest of you?” he asked quietly.

Jimaine set down the scissors and looked at him analytically. “Well, is that what you want?”

Kurt shrugged. “What else is there?” 

Just then, the door flew open with a loud thud as Stefan kicked it. He lurched through the cramped caravan, narrowly missing his younger siblings as he flopped down in a nearby chair. He leaned back, rubbing both hands down the sides of his face as Kurt and Jimaine stared at him incredulously. Eventually, he groaned loudly and kicked at Kurt’s tail as it swayed near his foot. 

“Bad news, brother. We are out of a job.” Stefan grumbled.

Kurt’s mouth dropped open, but Jimaine spoke first. “What do you mean ‘we’? Don’t drag Kurt into your problems.”

Stefan shot Jimaine a look, but then straightened up in his seat. “Getmann sold us to some...touring performer company. They already own most circuses and performer troupes south of Frankfurt. I overheard Armen and Hans talking about it.”

“That doesn’t mean we’re out of work. It just means we have a new boss.” Kurt pointed out.

“Wrong. They have their own maintenance staff, and their own ringmasters, so I’m out.” Stefan gestured towards himself, before pointing at Kurt. “And apparently they are strict about having a ‘clean, family-friendly’ reputation, so that means you’re out, too.”

Again, Kurt had frozen with his mouth open, so Jimaine spoke for him, gesturing towards her older brother with the comb in-hand. “That’s just _stupid_ , Stefan. Kurt is, by far, the best acrobat we have. He’s the most popular, too. Firing him would be like throwing money in the garbage.”

Stefan rolled his eyes. “Yes, yes. People come from far and wide to catch a glimpse of ‘The Blue Devil.’”

Kurt crossed his arms sternly. “My poster actually says ‘The Incredible Nightcrawler.’”

“Same thing.”

“Ugh.” Jimaine stared down at her older brother with frustration. “You’re just mad because the ‘Loud, Greasy Weirdo’ posters they made for _you_ didn’t bring in any ticket sales.”

Stefan made a face at Jimaine, but did not say anything. 

Jimaine was not done. “And besides, why should we take your word for it?” She leaned closer to him and sniffed. “You’ve clearly been drinking.”

“I’ve had a stressful day!” he cried incredulously.

“It is eleven AM!” Kurt responded.

Jimaine scoffed and ran the comb through Kurt’s hair a few more times. “Regardless, Kurt is _my_ acrobatics partner. They could not get rid of him and not me.”

“Your new partner is Till.” Stefan said matter-of-factly.

“That... _oaf!?_ ” Jimaine gasped. “No. Impossible. I refuse.” She shook her head vigorously. “I’ll break my neck!”

Stefan gave a casual shrug.

“Mama will not allow this to happen.” Jimaine argued.

Stefan scoffed. “What is she going to do about it? Put a curse on them?” he laughed. He sighed loudly, leaning back in the chair and running both hands through his hair, which was tied back in a ponytail. “I’ll probably be leaving within the week to find another job. I have connections in Dresden-”

“‘I have connections in Dresden.’” Jimaine echoed mockingly. “Do you have any idea how you sound?”

Stefan ignored her and stood, moving towards the door. As he moved passed, he slapped Kurt on the shoulder. “And if you know what’s good for you, Kurt, you’ll be coming with me.” 

Kurt spun around in his chair, watching Stefan leave. Jimaine sighed and picked the scissors back up, turning Kurt’s head back towards the mirror. “Don’t listen to him, Kurti.” she said quietly, although she sounded worried. Kurt stared at the speckled formica surface of the kitchen table, clutching his tail, knowing that his life as he knew it was over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter's title comes from the 1993 Björk song of the same name, which is an awesome song about, well, human behaviour, and how fascinating and wonderful and nonsensical it is.
> 
> Stefan (or Stephan, depending on who's writing) is featured in the comics as Kurt's older (adoptive) brother who becomes possessed by demons (!!!) and starts being a serial killer (!!!), which forces Kurt to have to kill him. His role in Kurt's life in this story will become more clear as more chapters are posted, but it's nowhere near as fantastical. People who read my previous fics will have an idea what's up, because I'm lazily recycling my HC for Stefan here. 
> 
> Also, it's been a while since I wrote anything resembling smut, and I've never wrote any guy-on-guy smut before, so I hope I didn't just turn everyone off. The next chapter will be tamer.


	8. Constant Craving

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kurt meets with Kitty, and later, Ororo. In a flashback, Hank has a new invention!

Kurt had just finished pulling on his coveralls and was now arranging the day’s tools as he waited for Kitty to arrive at the hangar. The past week had been extremely busy, and he hadn’t seen her since the previous week. He had rehearsals for his drama class’s play, he had to create an exam for his introductory German _and_ French classes, he held evening study groups to help struggling students prepare for said exams, he had spent most of the weekend welding things for Hank, and the rest of the weekend holding track-and-field practice for Peter’s team. He had hardly had time to eat, let alone socialize- he had barely exchanged a few words with Scott and Ororo at breakfast each day, and Hank had only been able to leave him written instructions for what he needed welded. Even Peter, he only had passing interactions with. In fact, he had seen Peter just enough in the past few days to learn that he was being released from the medbay on Friday, and would be returning to his own room. 

Kurt paused with a socket wrench in his hand, idly turning it over as he let his mind wander. Peter was returning to his own room on Friday, after which Kurt had said that they could...He smiled to himself and set the wrench down. The idea of it filled him with an intense, deep-down giddiness that he had not experienced in _years_. The anticipation; the memory of rough, eager hands on his body; the way Peter’s eyes lit up when he saw him- it was all so new and unexpected. Kurt had been shocked by his own reaction to how things between him and Peter had changed. When Peter had first kissed him, he had been conflicted and guilt-stricken. But once it had been clearly established that Peter was not acting out of a brain injury or a drugged-induced haze, Kurt immediately and completely accepted the change in their relationship. 

He had never envisioned himself as pursuing a sexual relationship with another man before. As much as he wasn’t bothered by homosexuality when it came to other people, he had to admit he had probably internalized some of the church’s messages when it came to his own behaviour. After Peter kissed him, he expected he would feel some form of contrition about wanting to go further. But he felt none. Not even for a second. Being with Peter felt _natural_ and _right_. It was easy to kiss him, to hold him, to touch him, to ask to be touched in return. That was one of the things that Kurt had grown to love most about Peter in the years that they had known each other. Peter always made everything seem easy. 

Kurt felt his face heat up. He set the socket wrench down, resolving to think about something else before he got too distracted. He glanced at his watch- Kitty was now several minutes late, which was very unlike her. He furrowed his brow, worried, and considered whether he should go look for her. As though on cue, he heard steps behind him. He turned to witness Kitty Pryde stomping angrily towards the locker area- or, at least, stomping as much as someone with her petite frame is able to. He watched in silence as she reached her locker and forcefully phased her purse through the locker door. She, without looking at him or acknowledging him in any way, phased her coveralls back through the locker door, and kicked her sneakers off so she could start stepping into the coveralls with unmasked aggravation. 

“Good morning, _Kätzchen._ Did you have a good weekend?” Kurt asked pleasantly.

“No.” came her short, angry reply.

Kurt sighed, crossing his arms and leaning against the large toolbox. Kitty finally glanced up from tying her steel-toe work boots, and then quickly looked back down. “I’m sorry about being late.” she muttered guiltily. 

Kurt returned a half-smile, tilting his head. “I don’t care about that. What’s wrong, Kitty?”

She sat on the bench, pitching forward to rake both hands through her hair with a groan. She sat back up, and quickly pulled her curls into a pink scrunchie she had been wearing around her wrist. She took a deep breath with her eyes closed as she looped the elastic around her hair repeatedly, and eventually said, “So, you remember how I told you that my parents were splitting up?”

“Of course.”

“Well, so...I was talking to Mom on Friday about that work-study opportunity that Hank was telling me about, and she was all for it.” Kitty started, “But then on Saturday, I called Dad to tell him the same thing, he, like, _freaks out_!” Kitty waved her hands around to emulate her father’s reaction. “Like, ‘No way in hell are you going to school in the UK, it’s bad enough you had to leave your old highschool,’ and all that…”

Kurt sat next to her on the bench, clutching his hands in his lap as she continued. “So I got kinda upset, and said ‘Yeah, well, Mom says I can, so I’m going.’ and do you know what he did?”

Kurt shook his head.

“He says that if I try to leave the country, he’s gonna sue Mom for full custody so I can’t!” she said, eyes wide. “So I called Mom and told her, and then she’s like ‘That jackass! _I’ll_ sue _him_ for full custody!’ That wasn’t what I wanted at all!”

“Oh, _Kätzchen._ I’m sorry. _”_ Kurt replied sympathetically. 

“And it, like, makes me sooo mad cuz up until just now, he really hasn’t given a crap about my schooling or college or whatever. Like, do you know what he tells people from his work?”

Kurt gave a small shrug. 

“He tells them I go to a _military academy_.”

Kurt frowned in disbelief. “ _Military academy_?”

“Yup.”

“You?”

“Ah-huh.” 

“You, Katherine Pryde, who cried at the end of _My Neighbor Totoro_?”

“The catbus took them to see their mom in the hospital, Kurt! It was sad!” 

Kitty crossed her arms when Kurt couldn’t help but chuckle a little. He quickly cast her an apologetic look and she continued, “I don’t even know why they care which one of them has custody of me. I don’t even live with them. I live with you guys! If I went to England, it wouldn’t even change how often I see them!”

Kurt sighed. “It sounds to me like it might have more to do with their own relationship issues than with you.”

“Right!?” Kitty replied emphatically. “And now they’re gonna, like, _ruin everything_. I’ll never get another opportunity like this one!”

She sat forward, holding her head in her hands. He patted her back. “Don’t say that. Someone as smart and talented as you would undoubtedly have countless opportunities to choose from.”

Kitty peaked up at him before slumping down further and sighing. “This one is just so perfect, though.”

“Yes, I know. We would hate if you had to settle for NASA.” He paused with a raised eyebrow, and she shot him an unamused glance, before smirking slightly. “And besides, it’s possible that your father just reacted the way he did because he feels that too many things in his life are changing too fast. If you give him some time to process the idea, and maybe check back with him in a week or so, he may be more open to discussing it.”

Kitty sat up straighter, scoffed, and crossed her arms. “You don’t know my dad.”

Kurt shrugged. “It’s just a thought.”

Kitty nodded, and tucked a stray curl behind her ear as she eyed Kurt curiously for a second. “What would your parents have done, if you wanted to do the same thing when you were my age?”

“Hmm. Well, for one, I was raised by a single mother. So I suppose I wouldn’t have had to worry about my parents disagreeing with each other.” Kurt pointed out. Kitty nodded along. He looked upward in thought. “Coincidentally, though, I was around your age when I left my mother’s home to travel with my brother. She didn’t want me to leave, but she did nothing to stop me.” 

“Oh, really?” Kitty replied, her interest piqued. 

“ _Ja_!” Kurt gave a quick nod, and then furrowed his brow. “She was right to be concerned. Things did not go well for me, once I was on my own. I should have followed her advice, and stayed home...at least for a few more years.”

Kitty frowned and looked down. “Oh.”

“ _Ja_.” Kurt cringed and rushed to add, “But I’m sure this Mr. Braddock character is much more responsible than my brother was!” He slapped his hands down on his knees and stood. “In any case, we had better get started on that cloaking system upgrade, if we want to avoid a ‘Hank lecture.’”

“Oh, jeez! Yes!” Kitty exclaimed, and jumped up from the bench as well. “I _can not_ handle one of those right now!” 

They grabbed their respective tools and went to work.

******

It was late in the evening and Kurt was now rummaging through the cupboards in the mansion’s large kitchen. After working with Kitty for several hours, he had taught a few classes and held another evening study group. It had run late, and Kurt hadn’t realized how hungry he was until he stood and felt slightly dizzy. In retrospect, breakfast had been a black coffee and lunch had been a granola bar and a few carrot sticks, so it was no wonder he was starving. He delved even deeper into the vast cupboard, stopping just shy of actually crawling into it, praying that something fast and easy would catch his eye. 

“Kurt! There you are!” Ororo’s voice called out behind him. “I feel like I haven’t seen you all week!”

“Ha, yes…” Kurt replied, turning to her with a can of cream-of-mushroom soup in one hand and a can of baked beans in the other. “I’ve been pretty busy.”

“Oh?” What with?”

“You know. The usual...” Kurt trailed off and glanced downwards at the two cans he still held, briefly frowned in disgust, and put them back in the cupboard. “Blackbird things, classes, study groups…”

Ororo leaned against the kitchen island and crossed her arms, nodding as he spoke. When he stopped speaking, she continued to look at him, apparently thinking he should elaborate.

“Why? Did you need my help with something?” Kurt asked. 

Ororo tilted her head slightly and smiled. “No, not at all. I just wanted to check in, to see how things are going with you.”

Kurt smiled politely back, his tail swishing across the tile floor. “Well, _Kätzchen_ and I were working on the Blackbird today, and she was explaining how her parents’ divorce is interfering with her plans to pursue that work-study program in England that I’m sure she told you about.”

Ororo raised an eyebrow. “That’s not how things are going with _you_ , that’s how things are going with Kitty.”

“At any rate, she’s having a very difficult time with it.” Kurt countered.

“Oh, I’m sure she is.” Ororo replied airly. “Weren’t you around that age when your brother sold you to the freak show for liquor money? Or were you younger?”

Kurt shifted on his feet and scratched his neck. “It was actually for heroin money, but _ja_ , I was around that age.”

“And when _I_ was that age, I lived on the streets and my life was threatened on a daily basis.” Ororo followed easily.

Kurt sighed. “Just because Kitty’s life isn’t in danger doesn’t mean she doesn’t have a right to be upset.”

“Oh, I agree. She absolutely has a right to be upset.” Ororo gave a quick nod. “Not least of all because she is fifteen and at that age, everything is upsetting.” 

When Kurt just stared back in disapproval, she took a long breath and softened her stance. “Look, you know I love our Kitten just as much as you do, but I’m sure that this middle-class American teenager who has two loving parents and goes to a top-tier school will turn out okay, whether you are worrying about her or not.” 

Kurt furrowed his brow and leaned back a little, crossing his arms.

“You don’t need to make _her_ problems into _your_ problems, just because it’s easier than dealing with the problems you already have.”

Kurt’s eyes went wide. “I’m not-”

“Yes you are!”

“No-”

“Yes!

Rather than shout, Kurt just glared back sternly. Ororo sighed and pressed her hands together. “You _are_ , you have been _for months_ , and, in fact, you’ve done it for as long as I’ve known you.”

“I have no idea what you are talking about.” Kurt muttered, stone-faced.

Ororo slumped. “Really?” she replied incredulously, and started counting examples out on her hand. “When you found out Raven was your biological mother, you _just had_ to spend the next _four months_ helping me with my garden. When Margali first got sick, you practically begged the Professor for additional class assignments. When you and Amanda broke up, you started following Hank around every time you got a free minute. When you were having problems when Kitty first enrolled, you took on more guidance counselor responsibilities with Jean...”

Kurt looked down, shifting uncomfortably. She may have a point. And she wasn’t even done.

“And this doesn’t even take into account the past few months.” Ororo added seriously, pointing at him. 

Kurt gave a helpless shrug. “I don’t know what to tell you, Ororo. I like keeping busy. I like helping people. It makes me feel better. I know you do, too. I don’t see what the problem is.” 

“The problem is that you’re not _dealing_.You’re _avoiding_.” She took a step towards him. “And what’s going to happen when-” she started to rant, but then stopped herself and took a breath. “Peter is mostly recovered. Scott is back in his usual routine. Kitty may be leaving in a few months. Hank can only do so many modifications to the Blackbird, because we do actually have to fly it at some point. You are running out of things to distract yourself with. What are you going to do when it’s just you?”

Kurt tilted his head only slightly. “You’ll still be here.”

“Yes, and you don’t really speak to me.”

“We speak _daily_.”

“Pfft. We talk about work and movies and what’s for dinner. We haven’t actually spoken in months. Not like how we used to.” she accused. “And it’s not as though I’m here to tell you that I’m jealous or that I’m mad that you’re ignoring me or something petty like that. I’m worried about you. Like how you worry about _everyone else_. You’re not eating. You don’t sleep much. You wear the same handful of clothes over and over on a rotation. Do you even go to church anymore?” 

Kurt stood motionless, accepting every accusation without argument. Finally, he shoved his hands into his pockets, practically whispering, “What do you want to do about it, then?”

Ororo gave an easy shrug and clapped her hands together. “We’re going to make dinner together. That’s what we’re going to do.” 

Kurt couldn’t help but laugh. “Alright, then. What do you want to make?”

She smiled. “You pick!”

“Hmm...” He tapped his chin with his nail. “Do you like sauerkraut?”

She wrinkled her nose. “No.”

“Oh. Well…” He walked over to the fridge and opened it, eyeing up the contents. “There’s some leftover roast chicken here. Chicken noodle soup?” 

Ororo nodded in consideration. “Scott often makes soup when he’s in a foul mood.”

Kurt furrowed his brow. “ _Ja_ , but did you ever notice that it just makes him sadder?”

Ororo frowned. “Huh. You’re right.” She stood behind him, peering over his shoulder. “Is that ground beef? We could just make spaghetti and meat sauce.”

Kurt smiled. “Works for me!”

“I still can’t help but think that the only one of us that she _really_ liked was Jubilee.”

“ _Ach, ja_ , she was _devastated_ when Jubilation moved back to California.” Kurt smiled and turned his fork in his spaghetti a few times. “But, that said- I don’t remember her ever forgetting _you_ at Kmart.”

Ororo paused with her fork halfway between her plate and her mouth. “Kmart?”

“ _Ja_.”

“ _Seriously?_ ” Ororo pressed, grinning and starting to giggle. Kurt nodded once, cracking a smile. Ororo set her fork down. “Now, be honest- was it because you wandered off and got lost in the toy section?”

Kurt nodded seriously. “It’s true. You got me.” He struggled to keep a straight face. “In fact, I was stuck in one of those large bungee cord racks they keep toy balls in.”

“I knew it.”

They were both able to maintain an air of seriousness for about two seconds until they both burst into laughter. Still chuckling, Kurt turned his fork a few more times while shaking his head. “The best part is that she had sent me to the automotive section to get some things for Hank, and then completely forgotten about _them_ as well, until he asked her about it later. I teleported home just in time to hear him start with his whole ‘I clearly wrote brake fluid on the list, Raven.’ thing.” he explained, mocking Hank’s stern demeanor and wagging a finger. “I think that was the only time she was ever really glad to see me. Because my timely arrival saved her from a ‘Hank lecture.’”

Ororo laughed around a mouthful of spaghetti. “That would definitely net you ‘Employee of the Month,’ at the very least.” 

They had spent the last hour and a half chatting while they cooked and ate at the kitchen island. The conversation was bleak and serious at times, and it felt good to get some of his more intrusive thoughts off his chest. Currently, however, they were on a kick of sharing funny stories- including about how awkward Kurt and Raven’s relationship had _always_ been. Ororo also recounted a hilarious memory of how Jean had pounded on her bedroom door in the middle of the night, seeking ‘relationship’ advice back when she and Scott had only just started dating. “What? Do I look like an expert?!” Ororo had exclaimed gleefully, as she motioned up and down her body. Kurt had smirked with a noncommittal shrug, and she had playfully slapped his arm. 

Kurt had considered telling her about Peter. Being as it was the only thing that had brought him any hope or joy in ages, it was always on the tip of his tongue. He was a little on edge at every break in conversation, debating whether to just blurt it out. She wouldn’t be upset, he told himself. She would understand. She might even be happy for them. It was possible she even suspected it already. Hardly anything got past Ororo Munroe. Regardless, he managed to keep it to himself. Having a secret was fun sometimes.

As she scraped the last of her spaghetti together on her plate, he set his fork down to look at her fondly. “This has been really good, Ororo. I think it was just what I needed. Thank you.”

She smiled back, and affectionately tucked his hair over the pointed shell of his ear.. “It’s just dinner with a friend. We can do this anytime you want. You only ever need to ask.”

He laughed a little, sighing softly. “What did I ever do to deserve you?” 

She raised an eyebrow. “Countless unspeakable acts, I’m sure.”

“Oh, I’m sure.” he echoed, with a sly half-smile.

He was surprised when she held his gaze, crystal-blue eyes blinking slowly. “You know that you can always come to me, though? When you need to talk, or don’t want to be alone?” She had lowered her voice, and her fingers were in his hair again, manicured nails running over his scalp, around his ear and towards his neck. “I mean it. Anything you need.”

He reached up with his closest hand, grasping hers gently and pulling it towards him to place a quick, chaste kiss on her knuckles. He brought both their hands down to the space between them, swinging them together playfully. He flashed her a quick smile. “I know.”

**Hank’s Workshop. Winter 1985**

“You wanted to see me?” Kurt asked tentatively after knocking on the metal frame of the door to Hank’s workshop. 

“Hmm? Oh, right. Yes. Please come in.”

Hank took a moment to remove the safety goggles he had been wearing, and started clearing his desk of assorted clutter and electronic parts. The surrounding work space was filled with various contraptions and equipment, as well as at least a dozen partially-completed gadgets. He took a seat on a stool next to the nearest bench, and pulled out another stool and patted it, indicating for Kurt to sit down. Kurt quickly did so, his tail curling behind him curiously.

“So, Kurt- I’ve been working on something for the past few months, that I’d like to test out today. Something for you, specifically.” Hank started to explain, and then corrected himself, “Well, the applications are actually potentially quite broad, but I think you’ll be able to appreciate how advantageous such a technological advancement would be to someone with your- Actually, you know what? Let me just show you.”

Kurt eyed Hank cautiously as he started digging through the drawers next to his work bench, talking as he searched. “Now, I’m sure you’ve been as disappointed as we have that we’ve needed you to sit out a few missions in the past six months or so. Ideally, you’d always be able to come with us for every assignment, but the sad reality is that whenever there is an aspect of subterfuge or espionage to our work, there’s a high chance we can’t use you, for obvious reasons. I’m sure you find this frustrating, as do I…”

Kurt gave a small shrug. “I’m mostly used to it by now.”

“Of course. But what if you didn’t have to be?” Hank glanced up from the depths of his drawer with an intense look, before starting to dig again. “I started thinking- If it’s as simple for me as taking a pill to suppress my mutant physiology, why can’t you do the same thing? I pondered that for most of an afternoon, until I realized that second-generation mutants like yourself exhibit _far_ more complicated cellular and genomic changes than first-generation mutants like me, especially considering how much of my physical appearance is actually an artificially-activated secondary mutation.”

“Wouldn’t something like that also stop me from teleporting?” Kurt asked. He had been exposed to mutation suppressing drugs in the past, but all they had done was turn him into a dizzy, nauseated blue person who couldn’t teleport. 

“Yes.” Hank answered definitively. “There were a few reasons why that wasn’t a good option for you. But then I started thinking- But _what about_ your DNA? You may have inherited your father’s mutant abilities, but your mother is an _unmatched_ shapeshifter. Maybe you have latent shapeshifting abilities written into your genes, and we just need to unlock them?”

“I’m actually okay with just the teleporting, thank you.”

“So I puttered around my lab for a bit, poking around with a DNA sample of yours I had lying around from that time you lost a tooth play-wrestling with Scott and Peter-”

“Um, pardon me?”

“But unfortunately I was unable to uncover any evidence of significant shapeshifting ability, latent or otherwise.” 

“ _Gott sei Dank_.” 

“So I am loath to admit I gave up on the idea. For a few days.” Hank finally pulled a small metal box from the drawer and set it on the workbench. “Until one evening, I was reading a paper published by an old classmate of mine, about recent advancements in holographic technology. At the same time, on the TV was some human-interest story about a recent amputee receiving a prosthetic arm that utilized cutting-edge robotics. I started to wonder- What if the answer to my question was not _biological_ , but _technological_?”

Kurt frowned and gave a helpless shrug.

“Hold out your wrist.”

Kurt held out his arm, and watched curiously as Hank removed his plain wrist watch, opened the metal box, removed another wrist watch, and fastened it to Kurt’s wrist. Kurt brought it closer to his face, eyeing it up. It had a large, rectangular digital display that was three minutes slow. It had two buttons on one side, and a small dial and a larger button on the other. It appeared to be a normal, if slightly cumbersome, watch until Hank reached over and pressed the larger button on the side of the face. 

Instantly, Kurt’s blue arm and three-fingered hand were replaced by a fair-skinned arm with a five-fingered hand attached. Kurt gasped and had to wrap his tail around the stool to keep from falling off it. A quick inspection showed that his other arm was virtually identical, and his bare two-toed feet had been replaced by a pair of plain, sensible brown shoes. His tail, he noted with a pang of terror, was nowhere to be seen.

“It’s a hologram. I call it an ‘image inducer.’” Hank explained quickly, probably having noticed the growing panic on Kurt’s face. “Everything is still...as it should be. It just looks different.” Kurt returned a skeptical glare. “Your tail, for example, is mostly invisible at the moment. It may become visible if you move it around too much.”

Kurt tested this by waving his tail wildly in between where he and Hank sat. Sure enough, it flickered in and out of view as the hologram concealing it could not react fast enough. 

“Try touching your hands. You’ll see how they only _appear_ to have five fingers.”

Kurt did as instructed, rubbing his hands together and lacing his fingers. Each one of his fingers appeared to be two, and when he tried to splay them, he looked to be giving a ‘Vulcan salute.’ He could still feel his own claw-like nails, even though what he saw was neat, trimmed fingernails. The ‘shoes’ he appeared to be wearing were also an illusion. He was still very much barefoot.

“Oh! And this is the best part!” Hank hopped off the stool and grabbed Kurt’s upper arm, tugging him along.They stepped into a nearby washroom, and Hank pulled Kurt in front of the large mirror above the sink, standing behind him and gazing over his shoulder, admiring his handiwork proudly. He had a hand on each of Kurt’s upper arms, which was probably a good idea since when Kurt saw his reflection, he almost fainted.

The man in the reflection probably resembled him in silhouette, and his face was mostly shaped the same. His hair was still black and in the same style, but the small blue streak was gone. His complexion was now quite fair, with a healthy blush and a few freckles. His ears were round, his teeth were straight and flat, his lips were pink. His eyes, he noted, were probably striking in a mundane way- large, wide-set, and an unusual blue-green colour. He supposed that the man in the reflection would likely be considered handsome, but to Kurt he looked completely bizarre.

“Are you, um...you doing okay?” Hank asked, rubbing Kurt’s shoulder slightly.

“Hank, who is this?” Kurt finally whispered, not peeling his eyes away from the mirror, and marvelling at how the reflection’s lips moved when he spoke. 

“It’s you.”

“No, but really?”

“I’m serious.” Hank stepped away from Kurt in order to look him up and down, gesturing towards his face. “This is, according to my research, essentially what you would have looked like if you hadn’t been born a mutant.”

Kurt took a slow breath, leaning forward to look at his reflection in more detail. He braced his hands on the washroom counter, squinting at the image. What would his life have been like, if he’d been born looking like this? Nineteen years of beatings, threats, hiding, seeing his mother crying and having her refuse to tell him why. Was it unnecessary? Being locked away, drugged, handed from one buyer to another, prodded, leered at, forced to fight and kill... He ran his fingertip down his cheek, feeling the raised lines of one of countless scars, now rendered invisible by Hank’s device.

“We’re...not married to this particular appearance, if you don’t like it.” Hank hurriedly explained. “I can change any parameter- skin tone, bone structure, hair colour and style...Just keep in mind that the closer the image inducer’s projection is to your _actual_ body type, the easier it is to maintain the illusion in the real world.” 

Kurt nodded along, still staring at his reflection. 

“For example, if you would prefer to more closely resemble your adoptive mother and siblings, I can arrange for that instead.” 

“No, that...This is fine.” Kurt assured, and then finally managed to tear himself away from the mirror. He turned to Hank and placed a hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry, Hank. This is just a lot at once. I really am thankful for this.”

Hank grinned broadly. “Not at all, Kurt. I’m just thrilled that it worked!” He placed a hand on Kurt’s back and started to guide him into the hallway. “This is a cutting-edge piece of technology. It has extremely diverse applications. But...I probably should have anticipated that it would be, um, a bit of a _complicated_ experience for you. Take all the time you need.” 

Kurt nodded along, and fidgeted with the strap of the image inducer. “Thank you.” he muttered. 

“In fact, why don’t you take it for a test-drive? Try it on for a bit?” Hank suggested. “Maybe go for a walk, get lunch or something. Try it out while teleporting. See what it can do!”

Kurt looked up at Hank, and couldn’t help but smile at his proud, joyus expression. “That sounds like a good idea!”

The first thing Kurt did was teleport back to his room. A quick glance in his wall-mounted mirror showed that he still appeared to be an ordinary white man. He changed his shirt a few times, and was impressed when he learned that the projected image would appear to be wearing whatever wardrobe he picked out for himself. The act of changing clothes was itself very uncomfortable, as he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was undressing a stranger. He briefly considered changing his pants as well, but decided against it. 

Finally, he decided to walk to a nearby convenience store to buy some snacks. He had shopped at that store in the past, so he knew that if Hank’s device malfunctioned, he wouldn’t get into any trouble with the shopkeeper. He walked along the various hallways, constantly reminding himself to walk like a normal person, and not to slouch or ‘hop around’ (as Peter often teased him about) due to having a tail and walking on his tip-toes. When he walked past Jubilee chatting with a group of friends and she didn’t even acknowledge him, he smirked to himself. Scott, who was pinning some papers to the bulletin board in the lobby, didn’t seem to notice him either. He grabbed his coat from the rack close to the door and reached for the knob, but quickly noticed a lightness in his pocket. He had forgotten his wallet upstairs.

Normally, he would just teleport up to his room, but he was starting to have fun in his new role of ‘regular person.’ He decided to use the staff elevator- something he almost never did, because elevators were boring and slow. He made his way to the discretely hidden elevator door and got inside, pressing the button to indicate his floor.

To his surprise, the elevator stopped at the next floor. To his even greater surprise, Ororo walked in. She looked a little uneasy, and he recalled how she had mentioned that she disliked elevators and small spaces in general. This had come up during a conversation they had during the many hours where they had worked together in her garden. He probably spent more time with her than he did any of his other friends. They also did chores together, frequently ate together, and sometimes helped each other with their homework. She was smart and extremely observant, dependable, and kind. She was much funnier than she got credit for, but never mocked others or put people down. She was also beautiful in a way he couldn’t put into words. It was safe to say he enjoyed her company very much. Probably too much. He recalled Peter delivering a quick slap to the back of his head before scolding, “Quit _staring_ like a _perv_ and ask her out!” -which probably sounds like good advice if you’ve gone through your whole life looking like Peter.

Out of the corner of his eye, Kurt noticed that, rather than ignore him like his other friends had, Ororo was eyeing him up and down. He shifted uncomfortably on his feet, praying that his newfangled pale skin tone didn’t have a realistic ‘blush’ function. Did she somehow recognise him?

“I’m sorry, but this elevator is for staff only.” she eventually said, in a polite and professional manner. 

_Gott im Himmel_. She had _no idea_. “I know. I work here.” Kurt replied, in a similarly professional way. 

“Is that so? You must be new, then. What do you do?” she asked next, now smiling at him. 

Kurt’s mind raced. Did he _sound_ different now? He certainly hadn’t noticed that he did. “I’m a coach.” he blurted. It wasn’t a lie. He actually did coach soccer.

“Oh! Excellent! We needed more coaches.” she replied happily. “What sort of coaching can you do?”

“Oh, all kinds.” Kurt answered emphatically. This game had started to become fun. “Soccer, track-and-field, swimming, physical education classes...but I have to say my specialty is probably gymnastics.”

“Wow.” She looked him up and down again, but slower this time. “You must be very athletic.”

Kurt laughed a little, smirking impishly. “I try.”

“Well, you _sound_ like you’ve come a long way to be here.” she stated, her voice having lowered. 

Raising an eyebrow, he matched her tone. “You sound like you may have come even further.”

“You’re not wrong.” 

The elevator dinged as it reached his floor, and he quickly stepped out. He was intrigued when she followed him, even though it wasn’t her floor. 

“You know, this campus can be a bit intimidating when you’re new. I would be more than happy to show you around.Give you the ‘grand tour.’” she said, stepping closer to him. She flashed a bright smile and met his eyes briefly, and then looked away. “We could even meet for coffee beforehand...if you were interested…”

Kurt felt as if his body had seized up with a sharp pang in his chest. Had Ororo just...asked him on a _coffee date_? No. Not _him_.

“And I’m sorry- what was your name?” Ororo added as an afterthought, and seemed to eagerly await his reply.

Kurt stood with his arms at his sides, his expression stoney, his mood ruined. “Ororo, it’s me.” 

She pulled back, furrowing her brow and blinking as she struggled to process this bizarre mix of familiar and novel input. 

“It’s Kurt.” he reiterated, and watched her face change into something almost like fear. Quickly, he reached for the image inducer, turning it off. He instantly returned to his normal blue self.

“Aah!” she startled, eyeing him warily. “Goddess, what is that? What did they do to you?”

“It’s Hank’s new invention. It’s for, you know, undercover missions and that sort of thing.” Kurt attempted to explain. To demonstrate, he switched the device on and off a few times, and Ororo watched with intense unease how his appearance flickered between that of her friend and the stranger from the elevator. 

“Well, you tell Hank that we are _at capacity_ for skinny white boys.” she snapped, crossing her arms. 

“Hank said everything about the projection’s image could be changed. If you have a different preference, I could submit a request.” he countered with barely-detectable sarcasm.

“My _preference_ is that you _turn it off_ and _throw it away_.” she demanded.

“I can’t believe you didn’t recognise my voice.” Kurt said, smirking at her.

“You- your accent was different! You changed how you talk!”

“I did not.”

“You did!”

He laughed, and she scowled at him. “In any case, I need to keep it long enough to find out what’s on this ‘grand tour’ of yours…It sounds fascinating.”

“Stop it, you!” she scolded.

“Did you perhaps get new bed sheets that you’re eager to show off, or…”

“Stop it!” she reached out to swat at his arm, and he easily stepped out of her range as they both laughed. He turned and walked up the hall as she walked back into the elevator, but as soon as he heard the door close, he teleported directly back to his room. 

Once in the darkened privacy of his room, he put his face in his hands, and could feel himself start to hyperventilate. He pressed his forehead into the nearest wall, bracing his arms above him, trying to block out everything but the sound and feeling of his forcibly slowed breaths. 

Why couldn’t Ororo have just ignored him like Jubilee and Scott had? Why did she have to-

No. This was his fault. For letting his mind wander. For allowing himself to think that because they were so close, because they liked the same things, because she’d stay up late talking with him, because she’d sometimes touch his forearm or his knee or his tail, that she would ever consider- _Verdammt_.

He turned, his back against the wall, and slid down until he sat on the floor. A glint of light reflected off the face of the image inducer, and he immediately started unfastening it as quickly as he could, frantically pulling at the strap, scratching himself in the process. Once he was clutching it in his hand, he instinctively drew his arm back, preparing to throw it against the wall. He caught himself, mentally scolded himself that it was probably expensive and Hank had worked very hard on it, and settled on shoving it into the very back corner of his dresser drawer. He never wanted to see it again. He regretted ever having seen it at all. Why did it have to make everything so easy?

He stood, taking a few deep breaths and shaking his arms. He scrubbed a tear he had shed against his will off the side of his face with his sleeve, and gritted his teeth in a flash of anger. He was too old to let things like this upset him anymore. He fixed his shirt and his hair without looking in the mirror and stood in front of the door. 

It was early in the day. There was work to do. Nothing had changed. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter's title is from the 1992 k. d. lang song of the same name. It's just such a classic. 
> 
> "My Neighbor Totoro" came out in 1988 and was just, like, the best movie of all time when I was a kid. 
> 
> My brief, vague description of Kurt with his image inducer is just based on what the actor who plays him looks like without all the makeup. In the comics, "Kurt, without the mutation" is typically a hot white guy with dark hair, whereas "Kurt with his image inducer" is Errol Flynn or some other classic bangable male celebrity. I kinda just decided to split the difference.
> 
> Things may get a little spicy next chapter.


	9. Come As You Are

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter's out of the medbay and back in his own room! In a flashback, the team try to help Kurt get over his recent breakup.

**Harry’s Hideaway, Winter 1989**

“You gotta call it.”

“Really? Shit. Um...eight ball, side pocket?”

Scott, sitting hunched on a nearby bar stool, gave a disinterested shrug and took another drink of his beer. Kurt, who was idly rubbing the blue chalk cube on the end of his pool cue, smirked and waited for Peter to make his move. 

Peter lined up his shot, peering down the end of his cue, and immediately hit the eight ball so hard it bounced off the edge of the pool table above the side pocket and flew in the opposite direction, off of the pool table. Jean helpfully snagged it with her telekinesis while Scott doubled over in laughter. 

“That’s the game! Kurt wins! It’s Jean and my turn now!” Ororo announced, and immediately started pulling the balls out of the pockets so she could rack them. 

“It’s not about winning!” Peter argued, and quickly sped to Kurt’s side, slinging an arm around his neck. “It’s about tryna get Kurt’s mind off his loser ex-girlfriend!” Kurt frowned.

“Boo!” Jean called out. “Good fuckin’ riddance!”

Peter gave Kurt a shake, and gestured towards the rest of their friends. “So our goal tonight is to get him laid as soon as possible-”

“Peter!” Kurt chastised.

“I don’t need him to get laid. I just need him to not mope around the house.” Scott pointed out. 

“Thank you, Scott.” Kurt said with a polite nod, before looking down with a small shrug. “I don’t hold anything against Amanda, we just weren’t well suited for each other. That’s all.” Ororo reached over and patted his shoulder.

“She’s better suited for, like, a dumpster,” Jean interjected, with a slight slur, while holding an empty lowball glass in her hand. “that’s like... _on fire_.”

“Jean may have pre-gamed a little too hard before we left the house.” Scott explained, carefully removing the glass from her hand as she stuck her tongue out at him. “Speaking of which, I’m grabbing another beer. Anyone want anything?”

“Get me something with a cherry in it!” Jean exclaimed, and Scott walked away shaking his head.

Peter poked Kurt in the chest to get his attention. “So, dude, you just gotta tell us what kinda chick you like, so we can narrow things down for you…” Kurt just groaned and shook his head.

Ororo laughed. “Honestly, Kurt- I don’t think I’ve ever met a woman that I thought was good enough for you.”

Kurt smiled at her. “That’s odd, because I’ve never met one that wasn’t.”

“I think-” Jean interjected, holding her hands out. “that we should look for, like, a...pediatric nurse. Who, I dunno...also owns a hobby farm filled with baby miniature goats.”

“Actually, Jean, that sounds perfect.” Kurt laughed.

“Ha!” Ororo finally finished racking the balls. “If you don’t date her, I might.” She walked up to Kurt and held out her hand expectantly. “Now, it’s my turn with the chalk! Hand it over.”

Kurt begrudgingly relinquished the blue chalk cube, after which Ororo immediately and gleefully started chalking her own pool cue.

“Omigawd, guys!” Jean groaned, tipping her head back. “Lay off the chalk! Give! Give it!” She scrambled for the cube while Ororo struggled to keep it out of her reach, and Kurt tried to wiggle out from between them. Peter had stepped back and was laughing at them all. 

“Uh, Jean?” Scott said, boggling at the scene before him with a glass in one hand and a beer in the other. “I have your drink.”

Jean quickly hopped away from Ororo, snatching the drink from Scott’s grip with her telekinesis, immediately taking a large gulp.

Ororo laughed and gestured towards the now-racked pool balls. “Come on! Are we playing pool or not?”

Jean handed her drink back to Scott and practically ran to the side of the pool table. 

Scott had insisted on a group night-out after discovering that the reason that Kurt had been moping around the mansion for the past two weeks had been because his girlfriend, Amanda Sefton, had dumped him. On paper, it seemed that Amanda and Kurt were perfect for each other- both German, both Catholics, both worked jobs that made dating other people rather difficult. Amanda was a flight attendant for Lufthansa, and happened to be on board when the X-Men intercepted a hijack attempt when her flight was about to take off from Atlanta. She delighted in telling people that she and Kurt met when a loud blue blur appeared and kicked the man threatening her with a knife in the face. Depending on the audience, she might even add that there was a backflip involved. Once her assailant was dispatched, Kurt was at her side just in time to catch her before she fell, and the rest, she said, was apparently history. When she wasn’t flying all over the world, she lived in Frankfurt, Germany, so she and Kurt only saw each other when her work brought her to the eastern U.S., or on the rare occasion when the X-Men went to Europe. Regardless, they dated long-distance for almost two years, and the rest of the X-Men got used to having her around when she would have an opportunity to visit for a few days. For reasons unexplained, Jean never liked her.

Perhaps that was why Jean seemed to be celebrating a little harder than the rest of them. Scott and Kurt looked over with a laugh as she blatantly and joyfully used her telekinesis to move the pool balls around the table, when her actual playing skill fell short. Not to be outdone, Ororo’s eyes turned white as she summoned a very small gust of wind to block Jean’s attempt to sink a ball. Peter ignored them both, and gestured towards a group of women at the other side of the bar, trying to explain to Kurt how popular he would be if he could just find a way to demonstrate how he’s able to tie a cherry stem into a knot with his tongue. 

“Uh, head’s up, guys.” Scott muttered, tapping Kurt on the chest with the back of his hand. Peter and Kurt immediately turned to where Scott was already staring. Kurt crossed his arms sternly and Peter started cracking his knuckles, as they watched three ostensibly inebriated middle-aged men approach Jean and Ororo as they continued to play pool. 

“Looky here, Frank- Someone’s using our table.” one of the men loudly announced as they crowded around. 

Jean scoffed and held her pool cue close. “Good thing there are, like, five more tables right over there.” 

“This one’s ours. Move along.” 

“I see. What part of the table did you write your name on?” Ororo countered, mockingly polite. “Or did you just rub your stink on it like an animal?”

“Listen, your kind isn’t welcome around here, so-” one of the other men started, before Jean cut him off.

“Actually, we _are_ welcome here. Harry even said.” She tipped her chin towards the bar, where Harry, the bar owner, was pouring shots. “We’ve been coming here for _years_. Weird that we’ve never seen you guys before.”

“See, this is what’s wrong with this country-” the third man loudly slurred. “All these mutie bitches should be locked up.”

“Wow.” Jean replied flatly, her hands slowly closing into fists. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Scott reach for the arm of his visor and gave her head an almost imperceptibly small shake. 

“Jean, please. He’s not worth the hassle.” Ororo attempted to sooth, even though anyone paying attention could feel an increase of static in the stale air.

“Shut the fuck up, no one’s talking to you.” the man apparently named Frank snapped. He was probably able to feel smug for about a tenth of a second, when the loud spectacle of Kurt teleporting right in front of him caused him to yelp and jump backwards.

Kurt had appeared directly behind Jean and Ororo, and they both raised an eyebrow at him as he wiggled in between them and in front of the three belligerent men. “You’re too late, _meine Herren_.” he announced, with a practiced smile. “These young ladies were harassing me about the chalk some time ago, but as you can see, order has long since been restored.” He stood tall, crossing his arms and swaying his tail slowly. “Your assistance is no longer required. You can go.” 

“What the fuck?” ‘Frank’ mumbled under his breath, as Ororo tried to stifle her laughter. Jean had started shaking her head. 

“Stay out of this, you fucking _sideshow freak_.” spat one of the men, pulled back his arm in preparation to throw a punch. He froze in terror when he found his arm immobilized. 

“You’re mistaken, _Freund_.” Kurt replied coolly, with his tail coiled firmly around the man’s bicep. “I was never part of the sideshow. I was always the _main event_.” 

Kurt and the man instantly disappeared with a loud ‘BAMF,’ and the two remaining men started yelling in panic. 

“Aah!” Frank screamed. “He fuckin’ exploded him! John! Gaah!” He clung to his remaining friend, who now had tears streaming down his face. Ororo and Jean were laughing hysterically, holding on to each other’s arms. In the background, Peter was also doubled over in laughter while Scott rubbed his forehead and sighed. 

Not twenty seconds later, Kurt reappeared, alone, exactly where he had previously stood. 

“You prick! You killed John!” one of the men tearfully accused. 

“No one is dead. Your friend is, at the worst, embarrassed. And perhaps a bit chilly, since it is snowing.” Kurt explained calmly. The two men stared back in blank confusion. 

“Okay, Kurt. The game is over. Where did you leave him?” Ororo asked, mildly chastising, and placed a hand on his shoulder. 

“He is on the roof of the...um... _adult novelties_ store, two blocks away.” Kurt admitted, with a hint of embarrassment. 

Jean faced the two bewildered men with a bright grin. “You hear that? Your buddy’s on the roof of that dildo store on Oak street.”

“You had better go get him before the shopkeeper mistakes him for one of the merchandise.” Ororo stated. The two men scurried away and out of the bar.

“Thank you, Kurt, but we didn’t need your help. We had the situation under control.” Ororo said, crossing her arms. 

“ _Ja_ , I know, but they were drunk and foolish, and I didn’t want to spend the evening at the police station.” Kurt explained with a shrug. 

“Ha! ‘Adult novelties’...” Jean laughed, shaking her head. “I love you, Kurt. You’re so square.” He just smiled and shrugged again.

In moments, Jean and Ororo had returned to their previously-interrupted pool game, and Scott moved closer to watch. Kurt perched on a bar stool next to Peter, nodding along as Peter rambled about some TV show he had recently seen. That is, until Harry slid a pint of beer towards Kurt. 

“Oh! I’m sorry, Harry. I didn’t order-”

“I know. It’s from those ladies over there.” 

Kurt and Peter looked towards the other end of the bar, where two attractive young women were sitting. One wore tight jeans and a pink bustier-style strapless top, and had her bleach-blonde hair teased into a voluminous coiffe. The other wore an off-the-shoulder electric blue minidress with a wide belt, and had a crimped side-ponytail. 

Kurt smiled and waved, raising his glass towards them. Peter shot him a look and elbowed him repeatedly in the ribs as the two girls started to move towards them. “Here they come, dude! Don’t fuck this up…” he muttered, but Kurt just waved him off. 

“Hey!” the girl in the blue dress said as she and her friend approached. “I’m Cheryl, and this is Jessica!” 

“ _Hallo_ , it’s nice to meet you! I’m Kurt, and this is Peter.” he replied politely, and held out his hand. When she delicately placed her hand over his, he quickly placed a gentlemanly kiss on the back of her hand, rather than just shaking it. She gasped and smiled, shooting her friend a look and pressing her other hand to her chest. “Thank you for the beer.”

“Oh, don’t even mention it. We just thought it was, like, _so rad_ how you got rid of those guys bugging your friends.” Cheryl replied, tossing her long, chestnut hair. 

“Yeah, those guys were such douchebags” Jessica added gruffly.

“Omigawd, Jessica!” Cheryl gasped.

“What? They were!” Jessica argued. 

“Fuckin’ right they were!” Peter agreed with a broad grin. Jessica nodded in approval.

“So, like, is the girl in the leather jacket your girlfriend?” Cheryl asked Kurt, tilting her head. She was referring to Ororo, and her black leather biker jacket. 

Kurt opened his mouth to respond, but was interrupted by Peter when he shook Kurt’s shoulders and answered for him. “Nope! My man here is fresh on the market! Single and ready to mingle!”

“Oh?” Cheryl replied, and Kurt looked away bashfully. “Good.”

“I’m going out for a smoke. You wanna come?” Jessica said to Peter, as she fished a lighter and a pack of cigarettes out of her purse. 

“Sure!” Peter agreed immediately. 

“Peter!” Kurt whispered harshly. “You don’t smoke.”

“Uh, I do when the person offering me one looks like that.” Peter whispered back. “I’ll be, like, ten minutes, tops. You got this.”

Kurt nervously watched Peter and Jessica make their way towards the exit, and turned back to see Cheryl looking up at him, tugging at her large hoop-style earring. “So...you must work at _that school_ , right?” 

By the time Scott decided it was time to head home, Ororo and Jean’s pool game and long since devolved into ‘fucking around with cues and balls and stuff.’ 

“Okay, guys. Time to pack it in.” he called out, and Jean groaned while Ororo began dutifully packing up the pool accessories. 

Scott scanned the bar for the rest of the group. Most of the patrons had left, so it wasn’t hard to find Peter, who was now full-on making out with Jessica on the other side of the small dance floor. Scott shook his head with a sigh, and gestured to Jean, indicating for her to send Peter a quick telepathic heads-up, thus sparing everyone from having to actually walk over and interrupt him.

Kurt, as per usual, was harder to locate, due to his tendency to disappear in low light. An errant tail flicking in front of a neon beer logo gave him away, and Scott moved closer. He was surprised to see Kurt still talking to Cheryl, smiling broadly and moving his hands around as he likely recounted some circus story. Cheryl tipped her head back to laugh at whatever it was that he said, and Scott could hear her say “Oh my God, you’re so funny!” while putting her hand on his forearm. Kurt finally noticed Scott watching him, and Scott motioned towards the door. Kurt gave a quick nod, and said something to Cheryl that changed her posture to a disappointed slump. A split second later, she reached into her purse to retrieve a pen and a piece of paper, and- much to Kurt’s apparent surprise- pressed the paper against his chest to write something on it. She pointedly tucked the folded piece of paper into his shirt pocket and ran her hand down his arm before leaving to collect her friend. Kurt moved back towards Scott, Jean, and Ororo. 

“Whatcha got there? Her recipe for banana bread?” Scott teased and he slung his arm over Jean’s shoulder.. 

Kurt pulled the paper from his pocket and smiled at it. “Phone number.”

“Look at you!” Ororo exclaimed with a bright grin as she shook Kurt’s arm. “See how easy it is to meet new people when you just...talk to new people!” 

Kurt smiled and looked down shyly, and Jean nodded along. 

“Jean, is Peter coming with us, or…” Scott asked, gesturing towards the door. 

“Oh? Oh! Right. He said to go on without him, and he’d catch up in a few minutes.” Jean replied. 

“‘Sup guys, ready to roll?” Peter said suddenly, having instantly appeared in the centre of the group, with his hands in his pockets.

Scott stared back blankly. “Amazing. Let’s go.”

The next day, they sat around the kitchen island, staring at the nearby wall-mounted telephone. It was early evening and Kurt turned the piece of paper with Cheryl’s phone number on it over and over in his hand. 

“So, you’ll probably want to call her sometime this evening. You wanna seem _interested_ , but not _desperate_.” Scott explained, as Kurt nodded along, with his finger curled under his chin.

“That’s a very good point.” Ororo agreed. “That goes for when you’re talking to her as well. _Confidence_ is good. _Cockiness_ is bad. It’s a delicate balance.” 

“Are you even sure you wanna call her, though?” Jean interjected with a cringe. “I don’t know if I like her.”

“You didn’t _speak_ to her, Jean.” Kurt argued.

“Why can’t we find you a nice mutant girl?” Jean complained.

“ _Gott_ , Jean, you sound like my sister!” Kurt scolded with a smile. “Except, replace ‘mutant’ with various other things…”

“You could invite her to an easy, friendly group gathering at the park, for frisbee or something like that.” Ororo offered, having opted to ignore Jean. “There’s less pressure in a group setting.”

“Or-” Peter leaned closer, holding both hands up. “If she wanted to invite her friend Jessica along, I’d be willing to go with you as a double date. Cuz I’m nice like that.”

“Wow.” Scott deadpanned. “You’d _actually_ be willing to go on a date with a really hot girl who’s completely out of your league? You’re a prince among men.” 

Peter just rolled his eyes.

“I’m serious, man.” Scott continued. “I’ll be nominating you for a Nobel Peace Prize this year. Just a heads up.” 

“That’s actually a good idea, Peter.” Kurt conceded, and Peter crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair with a smug smile.

“Is it okay if, when you call her, we all huddle around so we can hear?” Ororo asked. “That way, we can help you if you don’t know what to say.”

“I suppose so.” Kurt shrugged as he stood and walked up to the phone. “Just try to stay quiet.” Ororo grinned and clenched her fists in anticipation, and Scott motioned for everyone to hush as Kurt started keying in the phone number. Once he finished, he tucked the number into his pocket and cradled the receiver between his ear and shoulder. “It’s ringing.” he whispered, now fidgeting with the cord nervously. 

As the X-Men leaned in, Kurt’s tail twitched anxiously. Finally, a clattering sound was heard on the other end of the line as the phone was picked up. 

“Westchester County Animal Control. How can we help you?” 

“Uh…” Kurt froze, brow furrowed. At the kitchen island, Jean put her face in her hands and Scott’s mouth dropped open. Ororo and Peter eyed each other in confusion.

“Sir, do you require assistance with a wildlife-related problem?” the bored, middle-aged-sounding female voice said. “Is there a wild animal on your property that you need relocated?” 

“Perhaps she works there?” Ororo whispered. Jean peeked out from behind her hands, looking skeptical. Kurt perked up.

“Is there a young woman named Cheryl who works with you?”

“No, it’s just me and Jim and Sandra. Now, do you need us to send an officer over? Do you have reason to suspect that the animal you’re calling about could have rabies?”

“Um, no...I just-”

“If it’s a domestic animal, such as a dog or cat, you’ll have to call the Humane Society instead. I can transfer you.” 

“Um, thank you but no-”

“Sir, do you need me to send over an officer or not? This is our busiest time of year, and if you don’t require assistance, I’m going to have to ask you to get off the line.”

“Oh. Okay. I’m sorry.” Kurt muttered into the line, turning to face the wall. “Goodbye.” He hung the phone up, but did not turn around.

“So...like…” Peter started tentatively, “maybe she was just, like, too drunk to remember her own phone number?”

“Peter, stop it.” Ororo snapped under her breath, her voice short with growing anger. 

“Kurt, come on, man- it’s not a big deal, just-” Scott’s voice was sympathetic and he reached out to try and grab Kurt’s wrist. Kurt, still facing the wall, teleported away before anyone could touch him. “FUCK!” Scott yelled, spinning back towards the rest of the group, with his fists clenched. His head flicked towards Jean. “Can you get him?”

Jean cringed. “I _can_ , but...I really think he needs a minute.” Scott sighed loudly and slumped into his chair. “I told you I didn’t like her.” Jean practically whispered. Peter just clicked his tongue against his teeth and nodded slowly, while Ororo put her head down on her folded arms.

******

**Peter’s room. Currently.**

It was early in the afternoon, and Peter had finally made the move from the medbay back to his own room. He was finally stable enough, Hank had said. He was no longer at risk of seizure or sudden brain bleeds or massive blood pressure fluctuations. He was able to eat solid food, his IVs had been removed, and his various stitches had been removed or were healed enough that a sudden movement wasn’t going to tear them. He could use his powers- _cautiously_ , Hank insisted- and had been given the go-ahead to slowly start working out in the gym, and return to some of his lighter teaching assignments. He was only on a handful of medications now, and the cast on his arm would likely be coming off in a few weeks. Life was starting to slowly return to normal, or at least as close to normal as possible. 

Kurt and Scott had helped him get re-settled in his room, moving his things back and tidying up. Scott’s helpful puttering around initially caused a wave of annoyance in Peter, who had been anticipating some actual alone-time with Kurt. But that feeling evaporated in minutes, when he saw how genuinely happy Scott seemed about his recovery. He then felt like a bit of a dick, because he knew that Scott probably didn’t have much to be happy about these days. Plus, he had to admit it felt good to hang out with his friends, catch up, be part of the team. But that didn’t mean he didn’t see Scott graciously offering to put in a load of laundry as an opportunity to stick his tongue down Kurt’s throat. 

“Peter!” Kurt gave a scandalized gasp, but kept his arms around Peter’s shoulders. “He’ll be back any minute.”

“Oh, I know.” Peter nodded rapidly. “He’s totally got the Boy Scout badge for doing laundry.”

“He’s just glad to see that you’re doing better.” Kurt explained. “I don’t want him to feel like a… is it third wheel? Or fifth wheel?”

“Third.” Peter confirmed, and actually managed to step a respectable distance away from Kurt. “He’s actually gonna start helping me out in the gym a bit. Starting Monday.” He ran his hands through his shaggy hair. “I’m actually kinda looking forward to it.”

“That’s great!” Kurt smiled. “Scott is very good at that sort of thing. Of course, I would also be willing to help you if you wanted.”

“Pfft!” Peter scoffed. “I just wanna get back into shape, I don’t need to learn how to do a backflip or get my legs behind my head.”

“You mean you can’t already do that?” Kurt asked, head tilted, in that tone that Peter had never been able to decide if it was sarcasm or not. “It’s a helpful skill.” 

“Holy shit, man. You’re gonna be the fucking death of me.” Peter muttered lowly, causing Kurt to shyly look away. His tail loosely circled Peter’s ankle, giving Peter a somewhat smug sense of accomplishment. He considered pushing the issue, but he quickly remembered that he was sick of starting things he couldn’t finish. He straightened up, and idly started gathering up some paper debris from his desk. “But seriously, bro, if you could keep coaching my track team for at least a few more weeks-”

“Of course, Peter. That’s no problem.” Kurt assured. “In fact, I may just keep them indefinitely. I’m quite fond of them now.”

“Dude! Not cool! That’s my team!” 

“Are they? They call me _Herr_ Wagner. They even threw Gatorade on me once.” 

Peter crossed his arms, and couldn’t help but pout childishly. Kurt just laughed. 

“Okay, guys- looks like this place is almost livable. Anything else still need to be done?” Scott stated as he re-entered the room, rubbing his hands together. 

Kurt shrugged. “I was going to sweep. Other than that…” He walked over to the broom that was leaning against the wall close to the door. “Um...do either of you know where the dustpan went?”

“Shit! I left it in my room!” Scott said, snapping his fingers. “Be right back!” He left quickly, to a room Kurt and Peter knew was only three doors up the hall. 

Kurt started sweeping near where Peter stood, but cast him a quick look before turning back towards the floor. “I can drop by after my evening study group, if you want.” he said, shrugging slightly. “...If you think you’ll be still awake that late. I don’t want to keep you up.”

Peter huffed, chewing his lip. “You better fucking show up. You think I’m not already up all night thinking about you?” 

“Well, I should hope not. You need your sleep.” 

“Fuck off, you nerd!” 

Peter kicked his foot out at Kurt, who responded by laughing and striking back with the broom, just as Scott returned. They didn’t say another word about it, but Peter thought that intense purple blush around Kurt’s ears spoke for itself.

******

It was now past ten PM, and Peter sat on the edge of his actually-made bed, bouncing his leg and glancing at his alarm clock. In the time it took the second hand to move once, he had run to his dresser drawers, removed his Nirvana shirt, selected a Tool shirt, and pulled it on. He looked down at it, tugging the hem, and frowned. Why the fuck was he acting like a goddamned virgin on prom night? Not that he had gone to prom. Or even graduated. But whatever. 

The sound of Peter’s clock ticking was starting to make him mad. He could picture Kurt standing around and chatting with all his devoted and nerdy students, staying late to answer all their stupid nerdy questions, all the while knowing that Peter was up in his room, alone, waiting for him. Peter stood and paced around his bed for the thousandth time, cursing himself for overthinking things, again. This wasn’t a big deal. He’d done this probably a hundred times, often with complete strangers. They’d even had a whole ‘talk’ about it, and they agreed it was just some casual fun. Blowing off steam. What’s a blowjob between friends?

It wasn’t even like they hadn’t seen each other naked before. Ten years of using the same locker room meant there was no shyness or modesty between them. And Peter couldn’t bring himself to feel bad about staring when no one he ever stared at knew that they were being stared at. Kurt, he knew, was impossibly exotic and had a body that would put an Olympic athlete to shame- who wouldn’t stare? The way his tail connected to the rest of him, the way the bumps of his spine became more and then less prominent as they moved down the length of it, the unique and shockingly strong muscles at his lower back that controlled it- it was just normal human curiosity. He was curious, too, about the sprawling mass of decorative scars that covered almost every inch of Kurt’s body, scars that seemed old even when his friend was still young. He’d find himself having to tear his eyes off them when it started to hurt to think about. He set his hand on his own abdomen, feeling the ridge of the thick scar on his stomach through the cotton of his t-shirt. Maybe they had that in common now.

Also, Peter couldn’t say he understood _anything_ about Catholicism, but he was almost positive that Kurt started all his nightly prayers with ‘Dear God, thanks again for the really awesome dick.’

Peter flopped down on the bed, sprawling out as he let his mind wander. Kurt in the shower. Kurt trying to demonstrate to him how to do the splits. He could feel himself harden, and he moved his hand down to palm himself through the worn denim of his pants. He tucked his other arm behind his head, and let his eyes slip shut. The memory of Kurt on his knees, bent over him, sucking his cock hits him like a physical force. He’s rock-hard in an instant, and he doesn’t hesitate to plunge his hand down the front of his pants. He only managed to give himself a couple of quick strokes before he stopped himself, cursing his own complete lack of restraint. 

A deep, growing anxiety started to spread out within his chest as he now stared at the ceiling. He recounted literally dozens of encounters that were rushed along and ended too soon; one-night stands who concocted awkward excuses to leave, never to be seen or heard from again. As much as he resented when his friends would tease him about the revolving door of his bedroom and his lack of ‘repeat callers,’ they probably had a point. 

He thought about Kurt again, but this time it’s about the hours Kurt kept him company when everyone else was too busy. And how Kurt arranged for him to speak with his father. And how he had carefully combed Peter’s hair, when he was too weak to do it himself. What would happen to them if tonight ended up being just another awkward, disappointing encounter? They didn’t have the option to just not speak to each other again, but would they just shrug it off and move on? Was this whole thing a huge mistake?

The two swift knocks on the door killed the idea instantly. Why would he knock? What a dork.

“It’s open!” 

Kurt teleported into the room, a few feet in front of the door. “Sorry, my study group ran a little late.” he offered, with an apologetic smile. He’s still wearing the brown khaki slacks and red long-sleeved collared shirt he often teaches in. 

Peter looks him up and down, trying to make himself wait, trying to express annoyance in some appreciable way. What he does instead is jump off the bed and essentially tackle the younger man, the momentum shoving his back against the wall with a loud thud. Kurt’s mouth fell open, and so Peter attacked it immediately, teeth clicking together, pressing against him and doing his best to mess up Kurt’s professional-looking ‘teacher’ hairstyle.

“FuckyouIwaswaitingallday!” Peter blurted, borderline incoherent, into Kurt’s mouth. Too fast for him to react, he bit down on Kurt’s lower lip, hard enough for him to _feel_ it, just long enough to see his brow furrow. 

Kurt turned his head with a sharp hiss, and Peter just moved on to his jaw and neck, clutching at the material of his shirt with his casted hand. “There has to be _some way_ I can make it up to you.” Kurt said lowly, and Peter was again not entirely sure if he was being sarcastic. 

“I think we had decided that I actually owe you one.” Peter replied, his mouth just under Kurt’s ear, as he tried to sound casual while gripping Kurt’s hips with both hands. 

Kurt slung his arms loosely around Peter’s shoulders, and Peter can feel as well as hear him laugh. “Are we going to be keeping score?”

Peter huffed, and rolled his hips against Kurt’s in want of an actual reply. He was far too desperate, too impatient to joke around anymore. He felt Kurt’s mostly-suppressed groan from within his chest, and then a tail wrap around his waist to pull him closer. He licked up the curve of a pointed ear and whispered, “Tell me what you want me to do.”

“Oh? Um…” Kurt’s posture stiffened, and took his hands off Peter, looking at him briefly and then looking away. “I don’t know. What do you want to do?”

Shit. Right. Peter suppressed the urge to swear, instead letting his head fall onto Kurt’s shoulder with a sigh. He mentally recounted literally every time it was Kurt’s turn to pick the movie or restaurant or destination for a group activity. Kurt had an aggravating inability to make a choice, preferring instead to try and pick what would make the most people happy. It took _forever_ and drove Peter insane, sometimes resulting in Kurt getting sworn or snapped at. Peter had assumed it was just an annoying habit or a cultural thing until Jean had pulled him aside, and asked him to consider what his life would have been like if _he_ constantly had to worry about his own friends and family deciding that he was too inconvenient or annoying to even bother keeping alive. Peter instead thought of all the times his mother -or even one of his stepdads- would come to the police station to bail him out or pay some fine or beg a shopkeeper not to press shoplifting charges, and decided he wouldn’t be able to relate. 

Determined not to let the evening be ruined while they both still had all their clothes on, Peter grabbed Kurt by the jaw and turned his head back to face him. He braced his casted arm against the wall in order to give Kurt a deep, forceful kiss; sliding his tongue over smooth pointed teeth and feeling Kurt collapse against the wall behind them. “ _Everything_.” he rasped when he finally pulled away. He moved his hand down from Kurt’s face to his groin, roughly stroking the growing bulge. Kurt’s head tipped back with a gasp, eyes shut. Peter sucked at his exposed throat, feeling the tail tighten almost painfully around his waist, before speaking again into the crook of his neck. “I wanna do _everything_ to you. Get it? Anything you can think of. Fuckin’ _try me_.”

“I, ah-” Kurt sucked in a breath, brow furrowed, as Peter continued to touch him. “I want-”

Peter had unbuckled Kurt’s belt in a blur, and stared at Kurt’s face as he undid his slacks and untucked his shirt at a normal human speed. Kurt clutched at his shoulders, and he mindlessly pressed his own erection against Kurt’s thigh- not that the tail around his waist would have let him move away even if he had wanted to. Kurt’s tail had a way of saying the things he was too shy to speak out loud. 

Peter plunged his hand down the front of Kurt’s boxers, roughly groping for a second before wrapping his fingers around Kurt’s cock, feeling it twitch. He nipped at his neck, harshly whispering, “Tell me.”

Kurt groaned, his eyes still clenched shut. He brought one leg up to wrap around Peter’s hip and held him close. “ _Please_ , Peter, I want you to-” 

Peter didn’t respond right away, having allowed himself to get distracted by the feel of Kurt, throbbing in his hand. He slid his palm across the already-slick head, moving the foreskin back. He had wanted to do this, or something like this, for years, and it was already proving to be better than anything he could have imagined. He couldn’t remember being with someone so sensitive, so eager. He was so wrapped up in Kurt's reactions to being touched that he hadn’t even noticed what was being asked of him. Arms, leg, and tail hold him fast, making demands that a low, pleading voice can’t quite complete. Kurt had clearly decided what he wanted from Peter, and it wasn’t a clothes-on handjob. 

“Please.” Kurt repeated, raw and urgent. 

“Fuck.” Peter finally caught on. “ **Yes**. Jesus Christ. Yes. _Holy shit_.” It felt almost like his heart paused, as his brain filled with images of a perfect body wrapped around him, flexible enough to be bent into any position. He briefly thought that maybe he had never woken up from his coma, his mind existing in a sedative-induced fog where all his sexual fantasies actually came true. He nudged the side of Kurt’s face with his nose, prompting him to turn his head for a kiss that turned out to be way sloppier than intended. Peter leaned into it anyway, now that both their desires had been laid bare. 

“I’ve wanted- God, I never thought…” Peter muttered when he finally gasped for air. “Fuck, you have _no idea_.” He had begrudgingly pulled his hand out of the front of Kurt’s pants, and was now reaching up under his shirt, raking short nails over planes of flat, toned muscle.

“I think I’m starting to understand.” Kurt flashed an impish smile before removing his arms from around Peter’s shoulders. He pressed his palms flat onto the wall behind them, and easily moved to wrap both legs securely around Peter’s hips, his weight totally supported by his uniquely adapted hands. 

“ _Jesus_.” Peter grasped Kurt’s waist in surprise, boggling about how things were progressing past his own imagination so quickly. He had, over the years, chalked Kurt’s reserved nature up to him just being sexually repressed. Clearly, he was way, way off. Now, he felt a giddy swell in his chest, as well as a slight nervousness, over not knowing what Kurt had in mind for _him_. There were _possibilities_ for someone with such a unique -not to mention extremely fit and well-trained- body as Kurt’s that Peter couldn’t even fathom. Maybe he would find Peter boring? ‘Being really fast’ was not exactly an impressive skill in the bedroom. 

Peter groaned into Kurt’s neck when he shifted his legs, neatly crossed behind Peter’s back, causing their erections to grind together through their clothes. Peter slipped his mostly-useless casted arm behind Kurt’s lower back, just above his tail, to try and make it happen again. Kurt’s tail had meanwhile unraveled itself from Peter’s waist and was now slithering under Peter’s t-shirt, trying to lift it up and feeling around Peter’s chest and back. 

“Here, or the bed?” Peter breathed desperately, forgetting to include the desk, the floor, the chair, and the windowsill as options. 

Amusingly, Kurt actually stopped to ponder his response. “Bed would probably be better.” he concluded, before placing his feet back on the ground and unsticking himself from the wall. Peter watched as he strode easily across the room, unfastened pants slung loose around his hips, tail moving in an exaggerated, enticing sway. He pulled his shirt off in a smooth motion with one hand, and tossed it onto Peter’s desk chair before coming to a stop in front of Peter’s bed and casting him an expectant look. 

Faster than the eye could see, Peter is there, running his hands greedily across Kurt’s newly exposed torso. They kiss, hard and fast, until Peter nudged Kurt back towards the bed, pushing him down to sit on the mattress with a hand on each shoulder. 

Kurt looks up at him, smiling and grasping the hem of his T-shirt. “Can we take this off?” he asked, with a politeness that defied their situation. Peter complied automatically, throwing his shirt on top of where Kurt had thrown his. “Thank you.” Kurt replied, slipping his hands around Peter’s waist and running them up his back, pulling him closer until he essentially stood between Kurt’s widely parted knees. Peter found himself unsure how to react when Kurt leaned forward to rest the side of his head against Peter’s chest, hugging him close with strong, sinewy arms. His tail coiled loosely around Peter’s calf. Peter carded his fingers through Kurt’s thick black hair, taking in the sweet smell of his shampoo. Soon, Kurt released him, moving his hands to Peter’s well-worn canvas belt, placing a quick kiss just below Peter’s sternum as he lazily worked on the fastenings. 

“ _Gott_ , you’re just so _special_.” he commented idly.

Peter licked his lip, and hesitated to respond. He had never been great at the ‘talking’ part of these things (not that most of his partners ever had much to say to him.) He was learning that Kurt was so unlike anyone else he knew, in so many exciting new ways. The part of him that was always impatient, though, was starting to make demands. Even watching Kurt slowly undo his belt, knowing that he could easily have them both completely naked in less than a tenth of a second, was beginning to agitate him. Hell, most of the time when he took someone home with him, they had left by now.

He grabbed Kurt’s face in both hands, turning it up towards him. Amber eyes stared up expectantly. “God, I’m gonna _fucking ruin_ you.” 

There was a barely-audible gasp, and he felt Kurt’s face heat up in a flash, eyes widening as he looked back down. Peter felt a pang of guilt, thinking he may have stepped over an invisible line. He ran his fingers through Kurt’s hair again. “Uh, sorry.” he offered lamely. “I’m, um...not much of a romantic, I guess.”

Kurt peeked up, smiling slightly. He had finished with the belt, and was now working on the fly of Peter’s jeans. “I think you are,” He kissed the area just above Peter’s hip, pointed teeth grazing sensitive flesh. “in your own way.”

Peter tipped his head back and sighed, biting his lip when Kurt finally finished undoing his jeans and reached inside. “So, uh…” he started, half out of curiosity and half just to keep from getting too distracted, “You’ve been with other guys before, right?”

“Hmm?” Kurt glanced up, head tilted.

“Like, I know I’ve never, like, heard you talk about dating a guy, or seen you with a guy, but, like, you totally must’ve fucked around with some of the circus guys.” 

Kurt gave a small shrug, and returned his attention to freeing Peter from his jeans. 

“I mean, no judgements here. I’d be all over some of those dudes, too. They’d all be, like, _contortionists_ and shit. Who _wouldn’t_?”

Kurt laughed a little. “Everyone in my troupe was always very professional towards me.” he explained, slightly chastising. 

Kurt’s tail uncoiled from Peter’s leg, and he ran the flat, pliable spade alongside Peter’s erection teasingly. It felt amazing, but it gave Peter the distinct impression that Kurt was just changing the subject. The feeling of being ‘brushed off’ annoyed him, and Kurt’s responses struck him as odd, and he refused to continue without a straight answer. He snatched the tail just as it moved to wrap around him. 

“But you _have_ been with a man, though, _right_?”

The tail thrashed against Peter’s grip seemingly of its own volition, as Kurt shrugged again and looked away, holding his hands in his lap. “I’ve never actually _been with_ anyone.”

Peter immediately scoffed. “Bullshit.”

“You asked, and I answered.” 

“Whatever, man. I met your fucking girlfriend.” Peter replied skeptically, and tried to discreetly fix his pants back up.

“Amanda and I never slept together.” Kurt followed, his expression serious but otherwise unreadable.

“ _Seriously_? She was hot as fuck.”

“Well, yes, I know. But it was a long-distance relationship, and we didn’t get to spend much time together-”

“You dated for two goddamn years! You’re saying you couldn’t find ten minutes to plow?”

“We were trying to take things _slowly_ -”

“What are you, a fucking _snail_?”

“Peter, she was afraid of me.” Kurt admitted, locking eyes with him. His posture was stiff, his face stony, and his hands were still folded neatly in his lap. The tail in Peter’s grip was uncharacteristically limp, and Peter released it, just to watch it wrap tightly around it’s owner’s ankle.

“...What?” 

Kurt sighed wearily, slumping forward. He stared at his own hands. “She just- I mean, we _tried_...a few times and we, ah, did some other things, but whenever things would progress past a certain point she would start to get uncomfortable and I didn’t want to make things worse by pressuring her. We tried, um...waiting longer and turning the lights down and things like that, but it didn’t really work. When we were out on a date together, and when we wrote each other and spoke on the phone, everything was fine. I’m sure she did love me, in her own way, it’s just that she couldn’t get past-” He made a small, flicking gesture with one hand that was supposed to indicate his entire body. “this.”

“Holy fuck.” Peter muttered under his breath. An intense wave of guilt washed over him. Why couldn't he have just kept his mouth shut? “Well, her loss.” he offered lamely.

“I suppose.” Kurt gave a slight shrug, not looking up. “Six months after we broke up, she was engaged to someone else.” 

Peter frowned, at a complete loss for words, with his arms at sides. Kurt continued to stare at his own lap, wringing his hands slowly. They were both still shirtless, but somehow felt much more exposed than before. Peter regretted having brought it up, but now he couldn’t stop thinking about it. The weight of this new information hung over both of them as seconds ticked by, not touching and not speaking. 

Surprisingly, Kurt was the first to move, raking a hand back through his hair and sitting up straighter. “In any case, let’s talk about something else.” he suggested in an upbeat tone, reached out with both hands for Peter’s hips. 

Without thinking, Peter had instantly moved back and out of his range. “We can’t-” he blurted. Kurt quickly withdrew his hands, face etched in confusion. Peter took a deep breath, and held both hands up to finally offer a quiet explanation. “Kurt, I can’t take your virginity.”

Peter didn’t know how to react when Kurt actually _laughed._ “Ha! That’s fine. I don’t care about that.” he replied, with a wave of his hand and an easy swing in his tail. When Peter didn’t respond right away, he added, “No, really. It’s okay. I want you to.”

Peter stammered, “It’s just that we agreed that this would just be, like, a _physical_ thing-”

“ _Ja_ , I know. I still want that.” Kurt insisted. 

“-and this is just, like, _a lot_ for me.” 

“Peter, I don’t want to be weird about this, but I know for a fact that you’ve been with _dozens of people_. That _I_ know about.” Kurt crossed his arms, offering an impish smile, complete with a hint of a fang. “I think you can handle it.”

Peter raked both hands back through his messy hair and exhaled. “I just think that this is the kind of thing that you should do with someone who cares about you.”

“...Oh.”

Peter was forced to watch the effect his words had on Kurt in horrible slow-motion. His friend and almost-lover looked away, face reflecting not shock so much as a profound yet familiar disappointment. He wrapped his arms around his bare chest as though he were suddenly embarrassed. No, not embarrassed. Ashamed. 

Peter frantically tried to come up with something he could say or do, that would just fix it all. He wanted to take it back- _everything_. The things he had said, and _everything else_ that stemmed from the day they kissed in the med bay while Kurt fixed his hair. It hadn’t been worth it.

“Look, man, I didn’t mean it like _that_ , I just-” Peter finally said, all the while cursing himself that it was the best he could do. 

“Can you hand me my shirt, please?” Kurt asked, with forced politeness, as he stood abruptly. 

Peter obeyed robotically, before continuing, “I mean, it isn’t anything _personal_ , it’s-”

“I can’t imagine how anything could possibly be _more_ personal.” Kurt interrupted, meeting Peter’s eyes for a fraction of a second. It was clear he was trembling with the effort it took to keep himself composed. Peter couldn’t stand to see it and he turned away, and in the next instant Kurt was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter's title is from Nirvana's iconic 1991 song. Because it's the early 90's and so we need to have as much grunge as possible, and I felt it was appropriate for this chapter, if not a little sarcastic considering how everything panned out.
> 
> One thing I kinda forgot about when writing this chapter is that in the late 80's and early 90's, people at bars didn't usually "go out for a smoke." They just smoked the whole pack in the bar until the air was all smoky and blue. It was gross. Anyway, I decided to leave it in because it's a pretty minor detail.
> 
> Sorry for the sudden onset of angstiness here. In my defense, I did put it right in the tags. Part of the overarching theme for this story is essentially "Fuck my feelings."
> 
> Next chapter is either going to be a disaster or a trip to the petting zoo.


	10. A Simple Prop, to Occupy My Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter and Kurt have a talk about last chapter's events. In a flashback, Jean tries to give some advice.

**Mansion Library. Spring, 1989**

Kurt teleported into the dimly lit far corner of the mansion’s expansive library. It was a section filled mainly with partitioned desks and small group-study tables, and was completely deserted late on a Friday evening. He craned his neck, peeking over the nearby partitions and up the rows of tables until he saw Jean poke her head up, smiling and waving him over. He quickly moved towards her, greeting her with a smile. She had asked him to meet her at this place and time earlier in the day, which left Kurt deeply confused. This part of the library was just for quiet studying or, rumour had it, making out. 

“Thanks for meeting me! This won’t take long.” Jean assured, taking a seat at a small table, and gesturing for him to do the same. 

He sat in the seat she indicated, but still appeared perplexed. “How can I help you, Jean?”

“Oh, no. I was actually hoping _I_ could help _you_.” Jean replied, lacing her hands together on her lap. 

“Alright…” Kurt replied uneasily. 

“So,” she started, gesturing towards him with both hands as she explained. “this isn’t a conversation that I _want_ to have, but it’s one that I feel we _need_ to have, in order for you to make informed decisions, you know, going forward…”

“Is this about dinner the other night?” Kurt asked, head tilted.

“Uh, what?”

“Because it was a new recipe, and I had just gotten the cumin and the cinnamon mixed up. It won’t happen again.”

“That? No, I don’t care about that. Besides, Peter ate it all anyways, so it can’t have been that bad.”

“Did he? Ew.”

“Anyway.” Jean redirected. “Now, normally I would keep things like this to myself, but I can’t help but worry about some of the things I’ve, um... _overheard_ between you and Amanda the last few times she was over to visit. I thought it might help if you had someone to talk to about the, ah, _physical_ problems you’ve been having.” 

Kurt rocked back in his seat, eyes wide with shock and embarrassment. “Um...no. No, thank you. That’s fine.” he stammered, but Jean still looked at him calmly, undeterred. He grasped his tail in one hand, taking a deep breath as he struggled to collect his thoughts. “Jean, I- How do I explain this?” He glanced upward before continuing. “It’s _normal_ for Catholics to wait longer after starting a relationship to sleep together, or even to wait until they’re married. I don’t expect you to understand it, but that’s how it is.” 

“And that would be, like, _so admirable_ , if that was what was actually going on,” Jean replied immediately, as if she had anticipated what he had said. “but I know that it’s not.”

Kurt stilled, eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Just how much ‘overhearing’ do you do, Jean?” 

“I-”

“Have you had these sort of chats with _everyone_ , or am I special?” 

“Okay, so- contrary to _popular belief_ -” Jean went on the defensive, holding her hands up, “I don’t skulk around, trying to listen in on everyone’s sexual encounters and jerk-off fantasies. If anything, I go out of my way to ignore that kinda thing, because I’d really rather _not_ know.” She sighed, and her expression softened. “But what I can’t ignore, Kurt, is your pain. If she makes you feel the way that you do when you’re together, then she doesn’t love you.”

“Of course she does.”

“See, the impression I’ve always gotten about Amanda is that she likes the _idea_ of you, because you met her by essentially saving her life, and that she likes the _idea_ of dating you, because you’re an X-Man, a famous hero, and she gets to look all cool and progressive by being with one of the world’s most prominent visible mutants. But at the end of the day, I don’t think she actually loves you as a person. Not the way you need her to.”

Kurt stared blankly at Jean for a while, trying to process what she had said. “That’s not really fair, Jean. You hardly know her.”

“That may be true, but I do know _you_.” Jean replied unequivocally. She reached out and placed her hand on his. “You’re beautiful and you deserve to be with someone who can see that.”

Kurt stared down at how her five slim, elegant, manicured fingers wrapped around his three thick, heavy, clawed ones. The contrast between them was ridiculous. Absurd. He continued to stare, Jean’s words completely lost on him. He felt a hot spike of disgust deep in his chest when he thought about how he must look through other’s eyes. No wonder Amanda found touching him so difficult.

“Oh. I-” Jean stammered suddenly, pulling her hand away. She must have felt it, too. “I’m sorry, I didn’t-”

“I’m sorry to have bothered you, Jean.” Kurt blurted, standing abruptly. “I’ll try to make my feelings a little quieter in the future.”

Jean looked up at him, indignant and stubborn. “You know that’s not what I want.” 

“Similarly, I’ll continue to keep from teleporting into you and Scott’s bedroom when you are in there together. In order to respect your privacy. Seems like the decent thing to do.” he added flatly, not looking at her while he smoothed out his shirt. 

“Kurt, please. I’m worried about you!” Jean pleaded, knowing he was preparing to teleport away. 

“Thank you for your concern.” came the blunt reply. As soon as she heard it, he was already gone.

**X-Men Blackbird Hangar. Currently.**

“So Amara’s like ‘Don’t be mad! I was going to put you and Piotr together, but he doesn’t fit in the closet!’ But that doesn’t explain why she had to put me with Victor! Seven minutes in heaven...More like seven minutes in _awkward silence_!” 

Kurt nodded along to Kitty’s animated rambling as they put away their tools and changed out of their coveralls. “I like Victor. He’s a nice boy.”

“Well, yeah, but Amara’s just trying to stir things up. She knows he doesn’t like girls!” Kitty argued. “And, I dunno, he’s, like, one of those _theatre kids_.”

“ _Ja_ , he’s one of _my_ ‘theatre kids,’ _Kätzchen._ I teach him in drama.” Kurt pointed out. “And I was also a ‘theatre kid,’ _of sorts_ , growing up, and I turned out-” He gestured up and down his body before cringing slightly. “mostly okay.”

“Shoot! Sorry!” Kitty blurted. “Sometimes I forget you don’t just work on the Blackbird.”

Kurt chuckled. “You’ll regret that you didn’t take any of my language courses if you go study abroad in Europe.” 

“Um, I’m pretty sure people speak English in England.” Kitty replied with a toss of her hair.

“France is only a couple of hours from London.. _.”_ Kurt followed easily.

“Yeah, well, the way things are going, I’ll be lucky if I can get a work-study placement in Gary, Indiana.” Kitty grumbled, before phasing off her steel-toe work boots and flopping down on the bench. 

Kurt sighed and sat down next to her. “Has there been no progress with your father?”

“Ugh. No. I told you. Once he has an idea in his head…” She frowned, slumping and clicking her tongue against her teeth. “Hank said he might try to arrange a conference call between both my parents, and him, and Mr. Braddock, to see if they can come to some form of agreement, but I don’t have high hopes.”

“Hank is a very smart, very sensible man. If anyone can help your father see reason, it’s him.” Kurt said confidently. He didn’t mention that actually, the Professor would be much better at easing Kitty’s father’s worries and bringing people together to achieve a common goal, but since he left, Hank and the rest of the X-Men have had to scramble to try and keep things together as best as they could. 

Kitty sighed heavily. “I dunno. We’ll see.” She stood in order to phase her boots and coveralls into her locker, and pull out her purse. “Anyway, let’s talk about something else. Did you do anything fun on the weekend?”

Kurt knew the answer immediately, but decided to pretend to think about it. “Hmm.” 

He had been lucky that work had been so hectic, following his disastrous attempt at...what would it even be called? A date? A hook-up? Just another ill-advised opportunity for rejection? In the days that followed, he had done all he could to avoid Peter, which -now that Peter was out of the medbay- meant essentially avoiding everyone else as well. But mostly, he wanted to avoid spending time by himself, with his own thoughts. Constant pangs of ‘What was I thinking?’ and ‘What did I expect would happen?’ echoed in his head every time he wasn’t occupied with correcting exams or welding sheet metal. Worse was the all-encompassing guilt that would start to sink in, over having thrown away a decade-long friendship over something that, even in a best-case scenario, was cheap and fleeting. Kurt could remember feeling like it was a great idea at the time. What had gotten into him?

“ _Nein_ , I can’t say that I did.” he finally concluded, with a slight shrug. 

“Aw.” Kitty murmured sympathetically, tilting her head. “Is everything okay with you? You’ve seemed a bit down for the past week or so.”

“Ah…” Kurt’s eyes widened in surprise. Was it that obvious? “Yes, I’m fine. Thank you for asking. I’m just-” He racked his brain for some sort of plausible excuse. “I’m in the middle of reading a depressing book?” was the best he could come up with.

“Oh? What book?” 

_Gott_ , she was relentless. “Um... _To Kill A Mockingbird_?” he blurted, naming the only depressing book that came to mind.

“Really? You didn’t already have to read that for class when you were a kid?” Kitty laughed. 

Kurt considered explaining that there was no ‘class’ for him or his siblings as children, and even if there was, then English-language novels about racism in American Deep South in the nineteen-thirties would probably not be routinely assigned to students in Bavaria. However, a quick glance at his watch told him that if he didn’t get out of the hangar soon, he wouldn't have time to have his graded Introductory German exams ready to hand out to his students in his next class.

“ _Nein_ , that one must have gotten past me.” he finally replied with an easy shrug. He hung his coveralls in his locker and closed the toolbox. “Now, I have to run to my next class. Have a good afternoon, _Kätzchen!”_ he called out, trying to sound cheerful. She smiled and waved back, and he teleported away.

******

Kurt wedged the bundle of graded exams between his upper arm and body as he unhooked his key ring from his belt loop with his tail, and transferred it to his hand, while holding a travel mug of coffee in the other hand. He easily teased out the correct key and reached for the classroom doorknob, but before he could make contact, he found his body jolted wildly, wind whipping his hair and clothes. His back impacted a wall with a hollow thump, knocking the breath out of him. After a split second of disorientation, he managed to conclude that he was in a small storage alcove about halfway up the hall from his classroom, his exams were now scattered, and Peter held both his upper arms and stood inches from his face.

“Dude, we gotta talk.” Peter stated, as soon as Kurt noticed him.

Kurt could not manage a verbal reply, looking instead between his now-empty arms and the mass of scattered papers in the hallway with annoyed bewilderment. 

“Fuck. Sorry about that. Here you go.” As soon as the words left Peter’s mouth, the assortment of papers re-appeared in a messy clump in Kurt’s hand. “See? No harm, no foul.”

“I had them in order…” Kurt lamented quietly, sorting through papers while awkwardly holding his coffee and key ring with his tail. 

“That’s easy! How do you want them? Alphabetical order? Sorted by grade?” Peter snatched the stack of exams from Kurt’s grip and flipped through them frantically.

“They were sorted according to the class seating arrangement.” Kurt said flatly.

“Oh. Shit.” Peter sheepishly returned the papers. 

“What do you want?” Kurt demanded next, once he re-arranged his belongings. 

“I feel like I haven’t seen you all week! I was looking all over-”

“Clearly you were not looking that hard. I am only ever in one of four or five places.” Kurt crossed his arms, shoulders slumping and tail twitching in agitation. 

“Well, coulda fooled me. Anyways, like I said, I just wanna talk, so-” Peter once again grabbed Kurt by the upper arm, possibly in preparation to haul him someplace else.

“Please stop touching me.”

“Oh. ‘Kay. Sure.” Peter pulled his hand away, looking hurt. “So, if you could just-”

“What else could you possibly have to say?” Kurt questioned, voice low with frustration. 

“I just, like, _feel bad_ cuz I, like, started this whole _thing_ , and-”

“Yes. You started it and then you ended it. What more do you want?”

“Just- Just, like, five minutes. Tops. Please.” 

Peter anxiously waited for Kurt to respond, and reached for Kurt’s shoulder again, although gentler this time. This did not stop Kurt from swatting Peter’s hand away with his tail as if it were a belligerent horsefly. Kurt looked down at his feet, releasing a heavy sigh.

“It will have to be later. I don’t have five minutes right now.” Kurt finally acquiesced. 

“Yes! Uh, I mean- great.” Peter nodded rapidly. “My room, after your last class?”

Kurt glanced with annoyance at the small group of his students who were beginning to congregate around the still-locked door to his classroom. “Fine.”

“Holy shit, bro. _Thank you_. You have-” Peter rambled happily, but Kurt teleported away before he could finish. 

******

For the second time in as many weeks, Peter found himself sitting on his bed, anxiously waiting for Kurt to come to his room. It was only late afternoon, but it seemed much later, and time seemed to crawl slower than it ever had. When the two short knocks finally echoed through the room, Peter jumped and, for reasons he didn’t completely understand, actually walked up to the door and opened it, motioning for Kurt to come in. Kurt stepped cautiously into Peter’s room, looking around him, as though he had never actually been there before. Without speaking, they both awkwardly tried to find a place in the room that seemed the least uncomfortable, resulting in Kurt standing within arm’s reach of the door while Peter leaned against the side of his desk.

“So, uh...Thanks for meeting me.” Peter started, his voice sounded louder than normal in his own ears.

Kurt gave an almost imperceptibly slight shrug. “It’s probably not a bad idea. Clearly, continuing to avoid each other isn’t working.”

Peter slumped, brow furrowed. “...I wasn’t avoiding you.” 

Kurt sighed and crossed his arms. “In any case, I think we probably have essentially the same things to say to each other, so I can probably just save us some time.” 

Peter shoved his hands in his pockets, trying to look casual. “‘Kay.”

Kurt took a deep breath and pressed his hands together. “So, I just wanted to apologize for my role in what happened. I know that we’ve both said that you ‘started it,’ but you were also very unwell and had been through an extremely traumatic event. I not only went along with everything, but also ignored multiple opportunities to put a stop to things. You were dealing with having had a near-death experience, and I took advantage of that, and I’m sorry.”

Peter gawked, blinking slowly, for a second. “Holy _fuck_ , bro. How is it that you can, like, _apologize_ to people, and just end up making them feel worse than if you just said nothing? You’re the only person I know who does that.” 

Kurt let his arms fall to his sides. “I have no idea what you are talking about.”

Peter ignored him. “Plus, like, **bullshit**. You’re not responsible for my actions. I’m fucking _older than you_.”

Kurt stiffened, crossing his arms sternly. “Peter, I am trying to give you an ‘ _out_.’”

Peter scowled. “I don’t want that! I want-” he began to rant, but stopped himself and took a deep breath. “Look, I know I was a total jackass the other night, but I want to try again. Maybe we could take things a bit slower and, I dunno, see how it goes. Please give me another chance.”

Kurt’s stony expression cracked as his brow furrowed. “No.” he replied, pulling back in disbelief. “I don’t want to _date you_.”

“It’s just like, I know we were both on-board for...you know, like a hook-up or whatever. But I’m just not sure if that’s something you’d be okay with, especially since you’ve never done anything like that before.”

Kurt’s eyes narrowed, and he slumped in frustration. “ _Verdammt,_ Peter, did you need me to provide a signed permission slip? Have you so little respect for me that you can’t accept that I want _what I tell you_ that I want?”

“No! But, like, seriously- Up until a few weeks back, I didn’t even know you liked guys.” Peter explained, crossing his arms and leaning back against the desk. 

Kurt sighed. “Well, I suppose I didn’t either.” He looked down and scratched the back of his head. “But, I do have to admit that the very confusing feelings I had about my acrobatics instructor are a lot less confusing now.” 

“And, what if we go and rush things and it’s like, _bad_ , and then you’re just all...disappointed and angry and I can’t take that back.” Peter said, quieter than before. 

Kurt just stared back, unmoved and unconvinced. “So, when you kicked me out of your bed because _you didn’t like me enough_ , that was because you were worried about hurting my feelings?”

“‘Kay, so, obviously I’m not a poet or whatever.” Peter replied, shrugging and tossing his hair. “ _You know_ that I like you. It’s just that-” He paused, looking down while gesturing uselessly and exhaling. “So, I do things like that all the time. Like, have one-night-stands. Take home complete strangers...”

Kurt tilted his head. “I know. That’s why-”

“And, a lot of the time, I’m sure we’re both like ‘Thank fuck I never have to see them again.’ Which is fine. Cuz I don’t.” He shrugged a little and shoved his hands back in his pockets. “But I don’t want that with you. So when you said you’d never been with anyone else, I just thought that there’s no way I can live up to your expectations.”

“Peter,” Kurt sighed, his expression softening slightly, “I don’t have any expectations. Not anymore.”

Peter opened his mouth to respond, but quickly thought better of it.

“I suppose when I was younger, I did have some...ideas, I guess, about how these things were supposed to work.” Kurt admitted, as he picked idly at the fabric of his sleeve. “I was raised to believe that someday I would meet someone, and that...everything would just fall into place. It would just _feel right_. I wouldn’t have to apologize for the way God made me.” 

He took a deep breath before lacing his fingers together, tail writhing uncomfortably behind him. “Obviously, it isn’t actually that simple. I’ve been all over the world, I’ve made lots of friends. But any time I’ve tried for anything deeper than that...it just doesn’t happen. I’m not a good fit, something doesn’t ‘click.’ And I’m tired of feeling jealous or resentful about it. There are certain things about me that I can’t change. So now I’m just trying to accept that I’m easy to _like_ , but hard to _love_.”

“But I do love you, though. You’re, like, my best friend.”

Kurt was stilled by Peter’s quiet admission, their eyes meeting across the room for a split second before Kurt averted his gaze to his feet instead. “Perhaps another reason why this was always a bad idea.”

Peter just chewed his lip and nodded slowly.

“And maybe that’s why it happened to begin with. You know that I care about you very much. And I always admired how easily you got along with people, how open you are with everyone. I was perhaps a little jealous, sometimes, at how it seemed that you could get almost anyone to want you. Because you are charming and handsome and everyone likes you.” Kurt continued, softly, as though he was embarrassed.

“What are you on about? Most people hate me.” 

“No, they don’t.” Kurt answered simply. “In any case, I think that, when you kissed me, I just got ahead of myself. I thought, ‘This is someone who could have almost anyone, and yet he wants me. And he knows me well enough that I’m not just some freak or oddity to him. And I think he likes me enough that he’s not going to try to mock or degrade me.’ And, I don’t know, it was just a nice feeling.”

Peter clicked his tongue and drummed his fingers on the side of his desk. “Ya know, it’s kinda starting to sound like you just wanted me to fuck you because, of all the people you know, I have the lowest standards.”

Kurt huffed, raising an eyebrow at Peter’s obvious attempt to get a reaction out of him. “You know what, Peter? You’re probably not wrong.” 

“Cuz, like, _fine_. I guess.” Peter followed quickly. “Christ knows I’ve been thinking of getting in your pants almost since I met you. But, like, if you don’t know what you’re getting into...I just can’t picture it going the way you want it to. I mean, I _know_ you and-”

“No, I don’t think you do.” 

“I don’t-? Fuck off.”

“I’m serious. You missed a lot while you were unconscious, Peter. So many things happened...I don’t really even know myself anymore.”

“Is this, like, about all the gay stuff?”

“ _Gott im Himmel_ , Peter, no. I told you that already.” Kurt scowled in frustration. “I just- I frightened myself. The way that things ended up, decisions I made...I can’t reconcile who I am now with who I thought I was.”

Peter pulled back, face etched in concern, as Kurt stared silently as if expecting an actual answer. “Holy fuck, man. What happened to you?” he finally whispered.

Kurt let out a weary sigh, looking down at his mostly-limp tail, grasped in both hands. “Did you know that I have not gone to church at all, since what happened with Jean?” Peter just barely shook his head, and stuffed his hands in his pockets. “I know that I should, but I...I just _can’t_.” He held Peter’s gaze, head tilted slightly, eyes intensely questioning. “I’ve committed acts so vile that I’ve been trying to _hide them from God_. What do you think that says about me?”

Peter frowned, clearly confused, until he let out a long exhale. He took his hands out of his pockets and held his arms out from his sides. “C’mere, man.”

“Uh, sorry?”

“Come here. Like, just come over here.”

Kurt narrowed his eyes, his tail twitching in frustration. “Why?“

“I just, like, feel like I gotta hug your or something.” Peter gestured for Kurt to ‘bring it in.’

“Why?” Kurt snapped.

“BECAUSE YOU MAKE ME FUCKIN’ SAD!” Peter screamed across the room.

Kurt’s jaw dropped and he stammered, “I’m sor-”

“STOP IT!”

Peter watched with regret as Kurt appeared startled by his outburst, backing against the wall and looking away.

“Fuck. I’m sorry. I’m sorry for yelling.” he blurted, taking a few steps towards Kurt. Kurt stared at him warily but did not move away. “But, like, I don’t care what changed, or what you think you did wrong. You’re still the same to me.” Cautiously, he closed the distance between them, reaching out to brush his fingers against Kurt’s. “I wanna start over. Please.”

Kurt met his eyes for a fraction of a second, before quickly looking away. He pulled his hand away from Peter’s, wrapping his arm around his own abdomen. “I’m not going to further shame myself by letting you reject me again.”

“I won’t! I promise! I-”

Kurt silenced him with a raised hand. “I’m sorry, Peter, but your word is worthless to me now.” 

He was gone in a loud burst of blue/black smoke the instant he spoke, leaving Peter facing a blank wall. Peter let his forehead thud against it, whispering a defeated “Fuck.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter's title is a line from the 1987 song "The One I Love" by R.E.M. It's an amazing song, and I thought it was appropriate.
> 
> Sorry for the continuing angst-fest. That's the wave I've been riding. We will continue to ride it until Peter works on his "people skills." Also, anyone who saw Dark Phoenix will have at least a vague idea what Kurt is referring to. For anyone who didn't see it (which, statistically, is most people...) I'll provide a brief explanation whenever it's relevant to the continuation of the story. 
> 
> Next chapter is gonna be Hank-centric.


	11. Fully, Completely

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hank and Kurt meet. In a flashback, Hank discusses future plans with Raven.

**Hank’s Workshop. Spring, 1986**

“Just...a little...Okay. That’s it. There.” Hank used his immense strength to hold the massive metal construction in place. “Now, you rivet it, and we’ll move on to the welding.”

Kurt, having adhered himself to the side of the larger structure that the new piece was being added to, quickly moved in with the riveting gun to secure the two pieces together. Hank let go of the new piece once he was confident it had been properly attached, and stepped back to admire their work. The two pieces were part of some large, complicated, advanced new piece of technology that Hank had been working on, which had been explained to Kurt in agonizing detail several times, but went completely over his head. It had something to do with quantifying positrons? Or was it prions? Or was it destabilizing quarks? Or was it just a big microwave? Kurt was really more concerned with whether the rivets and welds were adequate to keep the whole thing from falling apart.

“Excellent. That’s exactly right.” Hank confirmed, after staring at their handiwork. “Now, let’s just get that welding completed and we can move on to the inner components.” 

Kurt hopped down from the sheet metal siding of the structure. “Actually, Hank, if you have other things to do, I can finish up the welding on my own. The instructions you wrote out were pretty straight forward.”

Hank smiled, raising his eyebrows in surprise. “Really? You wouldn’t mind?”

Kurt shrugged and shook his head.

“I don’t want you spending all day doing chores if you have something more entertaining to do.” Hank followed. 

Kurt just shrugged again. “It’s good to keep busy, _nicht wahr_?” 

Hank smiled even broader and gave Kurt a friendly pat on the shoulder. “Well, then, if you really don’t mind, I do have a mountain of grant applications to finish up, as well as slides to prepare...”

Kurt gave a quick nod and grabbed his welding helmet from the nearby workbench. “ _Gut._ ”

Hank removed his work gloves and safety glasses and set them on the workbench and turned to leave, but quickly turned back as something came to mind. “Before I forget- I have been meaning to thank you for all your help on this project these last few weeks, and really, for your assistance for the past few years. There’s no way for me to quantify how much your hard work has contributed to what we’re trying to accomplish here.”

Kurt returned a warm smile, tail swaying behind him. “It’s nothing, Hank. You don’t need to thank me. I enjoy the work we do in your shop, and I enjoy your company.”

“Oh! Well, thank you. I enjoy your company, as well.” Hank fidgeted with his glasses, but then perked up suddenly. “And that reminds me! I got you something-” 

Hank quickly walked towards his office, with Kurt close on his heel. “I was going to give this to you later, but really, there’s no reason you can’t have it now...”

Kurt waited, hands clasped together, as Hank dug through the drawers of his desk, mumbling to himself, “Where is it? I thought I put- Ah! Here it is!”

Into Kurt’s outstretched palm Hank placed a plain manilla envelope that was ostensibly thick with paper. Kurt beamed, turning it over in his hands. “ _Danke_ , Hank! That is so thoughtful! You didn’t need to get me anything.” Hank shrugged off Kurt’s thanks, but watched with rapt attention as Kurt started to tear open the envelope with his claw-like thumbnail. Kurt peeked up with an impish smirk. “Is it another subscription to _Popular Mechanics_?”

“Last time I checked, it wasn’t your birthday.” Hank laughed. He crossed his arms and smiled with self-satisfaction as Kurt finally pulled the sheaf of paper from the envelope and looked it over. 

It was an American citizenship application, and other documents pertaining to it.

“...Oh.” was all Kurt could manage as he flipped through the stack of complicated forms.

Hank watched Kurt look over the forms for a few moments, scratching his chin, until he realized he wasn’t going to get the reaction he was hoping for. “You don’t have to fill it all out right away.” he assured, gesturing towards the stack of papers. “It’s quite complicated and a rather long process even once everything is in order, so there’s no rush. And, of course, I can help you if you get confused.”

“Um... _Ja. Gut_.” Kurt stammered as he struggled to put the handful of paper back into the envelope. “Thank you, Hank. It’s very kind of you. I’ll look over it more later. Perhaps after I’m done with the welding.”

“Of course. Thank you again for your help today.” 

“No problem.” Kurt muttered quickly, before startling Hank by teleporting away rather than just walking back to the workshop floor. 

“Hmm. Okay.” Hank said to himself before gathering up some paperwork. 

Not long after, Hank made his way to the kitchen, with his bundle of partially-completed grant applications under his arm. At the kitchen island, Raven sat, sipping a coke and flipping through one of her many firearm enthusiast magazines. 

“Hey.” she said with boredom as he walked towards her, not bothering to look up from the Desert Eagle photo collage. 

“Hey yourself.” he replied, and kissed the top of her head as he walked passed. He just barely heard her laugh in response as he moved to the stove and turned on the burner under the kettle.

“Whatcha got there?” she asked, closing her magazine over. 

“Oh, just some grant applications I’m working on. I’m thinking if I can’t get the money for my project on the long-term effects of the X-gene on RNA polymerase function, then I should be a shoe-in for my new non-baryonic matter quantification chamber.” 

“Oh yeah, no doubt. I’ve been saying that for years.” she replied with a quick nod, in the same tone she used every time he tried to explain something she didn’t understand and had no interest in. He shot her a quick disapproving glance but laughed despite himself. 

“And you are…” he followed, as he got a mug out of the cupboard.

“Well, Charles is working on this year’s budget, so I’m just doing a little light research into which semi-automatic handgun is the most economical.”

“You know that’s never going to work, right?”

“You don’t know that. Eighth try’s a charm!”

Hank finished making himself some chamomile tea, and then sat next to Raven, blowing on the steaming cup as he spread his files out around him. They worked in relative silence, her flipping pages as he scratched notes on partially-completed forms, for several minutes. 

“Did you and Kurt finish that... _science thingy_...you were working on?” Raven asked, again without looking up from her magazine. 

“Yes...well, no. Not entirely.” Hank paused from scribbling notes on the margins of his papers. “We mostly finished, and Kurt offered to stay and complete the welding on his own, which was nice of him.”

“Ugh.” Raven scoffed. “That kid needs to get out more.”

Hank shook his head, but then sat up in his chair. “I gave him that thing I told you about.”

“Ah-huh. And?”

Raven sat up and crossed her arms smugly when Hank just cringed and tipped his hand back and forth. 

“I told you!” she grinned. “Blank paperwork that you picked up on your way to get your driver’s license renewed doesn’t count as a present, no matter how you wrap it.”

“I didn’t wrap it. I put it in an envelope.” Hank corrected. Raven rolled her eyes. “I just...I don’t know, I guess I expected a different reaction.”

Raven took a deep breath and sighed. “Kurt _likes_ being German, though.”

Hank fidgeted with his pen. “Well, _sure_ , but I just thought it would make him feel more at home. He’s been here for almost three years.” 

“Yeah, but, his family are all, like, nomadic. It’s not in his nature to settle down.” 

“Well, yes, I’m aware of that...” Hank assured, “My rationale is essentially that he lives and works here, he’s lost contact with his adoptive family, all his friends are here, you’re here…” Raven raised an eyebrow as Hank gestured slightly towards her. “We’ve been spending a lot of time together, and I was just thinking that becoming a citizen of the country he’s living in might be the first step towards a different stage of his life- one where he can feel safe, secure, not have to worry about hiding…”

Raven gave a disinterested shrug and took a large gulp from her soda bottle. 

“I think I want to adopt him.”

Raven immediately choked on the mouthful of soda, which resulted in a long, exhaustive coughing fit. “Christ, it went up my nose!” she croaked, pinching the bridge of her nose and clenching her eyes shut, once she could finally speak. “Fuck, that burns! Arg!”

“Do you want some water?” Hank offered uselessly as she wiped tears and soda off her face with her sleeve.

“No,” She coughed again. “Nah, I think I’m fine now.” She cleared her throat and took a cautious sip of her coke. “Now, could you kindly explain what the fuck?”

Hank, now afraid to say anything, could only offer a helpless shrug. 

She laughed, which dissolved into an exasperated sigh. “You can’t adopt a grown man, Hank.”

“Actually, I looked into it, and yes, you can!” he corrected with a snap of his fingers. 

Raven just laughed even harder. 

“What? Would it be that strange?” Hank argued, crossing his arms. “You’re _here_ and we’re _together-_ ”

“Who gives a shit where I am? I didn’t raise him.” Raven was quick to point out. “Just because we live in the same house now doesn’t un-do the fact that I gave him up, and he calls another woman ‘Mom.’ Or, like, _‘Mama_ ,’ or _‘Mutti_ ,’ or whatever. I dunno. We don’t have those kinds of conversations.” 

“Yes, I understand that, Raven, but it’s been several years since he’s had _any_ contact with his adoptive family. They may have disowned him. They may be dead. Regardless, they’re not in the picture anymore.” Hank explained. “Besides, from what I’ve gathered, his adoption hardly sounds legally binding.”

Raven scowled and pointed threateningly at Hank. “Don’t you go starting some _legal shit_ that ends up with me having to pay sixteen years of back child support!”

Hank shot her a look over the top of his black-rimmed glasses. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

“Hmm.” she huffed and flipped the page of her magazine.

Hank scratched a few more notes onto one of his forms. “So, here’s what I’m thinking-” he said, unprompted, as he sat back in his chair again. 

“Oh, my God…” Raven groaned, leaning back and raking her hands through her hair. 

“Now, I expect that getting Kurt’s citizenship in order will take over a year, at least,” Hank began explaining, holding both hands up. “during which time you and I can get married-”

“What?” Raven scoffed. “Why do you always end up roping me into all your schemes?”

“Because I love you…?”

“Ugh. Fine. Whatever.” Raven grumbled, waving off his attention. “But no wedding. Weddings are gross.”

“Courthouse ceremony with the bare minimum of witnesses as required by law.” Hank assured with a solemn nod. “We don’t even have to tell anybody.”

Raven shrugged, and propped her head up on her fist, elbow on the table.

“And then once that’s official, it should be pretty straight-forward to file for adoption. And then-”

“Then you finally have that cute little blue nuclear family you always wanted?” 

“No! Well, yes, but mainly-”

“We can all go to Sears and have family photos done while wearing matching sweaters?”

“Really, Raven?”

“What? I know you love a good sweater.” she smirked, lacing her fingers together on the table. “Oh! After that, we can go to the Humane Society and adopt a puppy!”

Hank stared back, unimpressed. “You’re making this into a bigger deal than it has to be.”

She smiled and gave her hair a flick, as though the accusation was something to be proud of.

“It’s just...I think it would be a good thing to have everything _in order_. There are numerous benefits to having these things _official_ and legally binding, in case anything were to happen.”

“Ha!” Raven laughed, slinging her arm over the back of her chair. “I know this all sounds great from your point of view, but people like Kurt and me? We don’t really do the whole ‘official paperwork’ thing. We fly under the radar. No Social Security card, no birth records...Legally, I’m not really sure either of us exists.” 

“Yes, I know,” Hank responded quietly. “and I hate that. Isn’t that the sort of thing we’re all working towards changing?”

Raven inspected her nails. “It can have its benefits.”

“It’s a relic of a bygone era, Raven. I expect better for us now.” 

“Hank…” Raven started teasingly after pausing to look Hank up and down for a moment, “are you just a big softie who’s trying to express your emotions through paperwork?”

Hank looked down bashfully. “It’s just an idea I had, that’s all.”

“Well,” she replied with an easy smile, “who knows what’ll happen in the next couple years?”

Hank grinned, knowing that was as close to an agreement as he could possibly hope to achieve. “Exactly!” 

He watched her return her attention to her magazine, lazily flipping the pages. He smirked, and elbowed her arm so that she looked back up at him. “You know, I might even let you keep your last name.”

She raised an eyebrow, completely unperturbed. “And _I_ might even let you keep some of your teeth.”

**Hank’s Office. Currently.**

Kurt approached the doorway of Hank’s office, and watched Hank delicately pluck a floppy disk from a case of dozens of them and push it into the drive of his computer. The machine groaned as it loaded the program, and Hank adjusted his glasses as he waited for the screen to change. 

“You wanted to see me?” Kurt asked, after knocking on the doorframe.

Hank appeared confused for a split second, but quickly motioned towards a well-worn chair across from his desk. 

Hank glanced briefly at Kurt before returning his attention to the stacks of files on his desk. Kurt sat, hands folded neatly on his lap, as he waited for Hank to speak. 

“Now, I know we’re both busy men, so I’ll keep this brief-” Hank finally said, now holding a slim folder in his hand. “How would you like to go back to Europe?”

Kurt leaned back in the chair, crossed his legs, and finally let out a long exhale. “You know what, Hank? That’s probably not a bad idea.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter's title is also the title of The Tragically Hip's 1992 song and album. It's a great song about the full extent of loss felt when a relationship ends, so I thought it was appropriate for a few different reasons here. I also know this is the second time I've used a Hip song as the title, and I offer no explanation other than I love them and using their songs warms my icy Canadian heart. 
> 
> I'll admit I have no idea how adoption law, or citizenship applications, work in the United States. I'm gonna assume all applications are just processed by a wizard. 
> 
> Next few chapters will have, I promise, actual plot development.


	12. Tired of Myself, Tired of This Town

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kurt considers a new job opportunity. Later, we flashback to the last time one of the X-Men considered other options.

“So, essentially, your responsibilities in this new position would be two-pronged. Your primary focus would be overseeing Miss Pryde’s continued education and acting as a chaperon to her- not that she really needs it, but it ought to shut her father up…” Hank explained with a huff towards the end, and then gestured towards the open folder that Kurt now examined, “In addition, you are to act as a tutor to one of the research group’s members, a Ms. Puceanu, who- as I understand- has some literacy issues. Mr. Braddock explained to me that she, not unlike you, was raised by Romanichal travelers, but- due to the nature of her mutation- was kept in almost complete isolation. As such, she has some noted educational deficiencies. I’m sure your experience as a language teacher, and also as someone who learned English as a second language, would be useful here.”

Kurt nodded along, pouring over the details in the papers Hank had prepared for him. “Doesn’t it seem odd to hire a German from America to go to England to teach English to an English person?”

“Yes.” Hank confirmed. “But, it also plays to your strengths. Mr. Braddock seemed to _imply_ that he had tried to help Ms. Puceanu learn to read, but that he had too short of a temper to teach her effectively. He’s stated that she’s very nice, but perhaps a bit... _sensitive_. I can’t imagine that would be something you’d struggle with.” 

Kurt raised an eyebrow, and flipped through the files yet again. There were mission statements, descriptions of roles and responsibilities, and breakdowns of salary and included benefits. 

“I’ve also informed Mr. Braddock of your mechanical expertise, your pilot training, and your various other skills. He’s quite enthusiastic about the idea of having you as part of his group. At the very least, I doubt you would get bored.”

Kurt clicked his tongue against his teeth and closed the folder. “It sounds good to me.”

Hank leaned across his desk, gesturing towards the folder. “Now, please don’t feel you need to make a decision right away. Everything there is negotiable. In particular, I suspect they’re lowballing you on the salary.”

Kurt gave a disinterested shrug. “I’m sure I could live off of it.”

“And in no way are you obligated to take this position. I know you and Katherine have gotten quite close over the past couple years, but don’t think that this is the only solution that allows her to continue her studies abroad. I’m sure another of our teaching staff would jump at the opportunity to supervise her while working as a private tutor in England. Mr. Braddock would just have to hire his own mechanic.”

Kurt nodded again, scratching the side of his neck as he looked down at the folder in his hand. His tail slapped against the leg of the chair. “I might talk it over with the rest of the team, if that’s okay?”

“Of course.” Hank stated seriously. “I sincerely hope that you do.”

“Alright then,” Kurt stood, gesturing towards Hank with the folder in hand. “Thank you for this, Hank. I will get back to you shortly.”

******

“Well, I agree with Hank. They are _definitely_ lowballing you.” 

Scott flipped through the pages again, before closing the folder and tossing it into the centre of the breakfast nook table. 

Kurt reached out to pull the folder back towards him. “Perhaps a little. But I’m told it’s negotiable.”

“If these people don’t appreciate your value, are they worth moving halfway across the world for?” Ororo asked, her arms crossed sternly. 

“It’s not all about the money, though.” Kurt countered. “I have ties in Europe, I still have family there-”

“You have family _here_.” Ororo tapped the surface of the table.

“What I’m saying is that Germany is mere hours from England _by car_.” he explained, avoiding her gaze and moving his hands around as he spoke. “ _I_ could have dinner with my sister in Winzeldorf and still be back home in time for bed.” 

“I thought you said Jimane’s children were annoying.” Ororo countered, raising an eyebrow.

“No, I said my nephew was _teething_.” Kurt replied, slumping in exasperation. “I’m sure he’s over it now. That was almost a year ago.” 

“And who would teach your classes? Or assist Hank in his workshop? Or fly the Blackbird?” Ororo listed off, staring him down while counting off on her fingers. 

Kurt gave an amused half-smile. “Ororo, _liebchen_ , _you_ can fly the Blackbird.” 

She stiffened and opened her mouth to respond, but Scott spoke before she could make a sound. “I mean, we _have_ been looking into hiring more teaching staff...” he said hesitantly as he adjusted his visor. “So that part’s not all that complicated.”

“Also, Hank told me he has been communicating with that very talented mutant engineer we met last year. Remember, he had designed his own bionic leg?” Kurt followed. Scott and Ororo exchanged confused glances. “He had the very impressive mustache?” Kurt offered next. 

“Oh!” Scott snapped his fingers and smiled. “Forge!”

“ _Ja_ , Forge!” Kurt confirmed. “Remember him, Ororo? You liked him, if I recall.”

“Hmm. He’s alright.” 

“Regardless, if he were to come work here, Hank would not have a chance to miss _Kätzchen_ or I. He’s a technological genius.” 

Ororo sat forward, folding her hands together on the tabletop and closing her eyes, letting out a long sigh. “Kurt, you are not just the list of tasks you can complete. How are we supposed to do...the things that we do, if you are no longer with us?”

“Well, I’m hardly the only teleporter in the world. Illyana is quite skilled, and is eager to take on more responsibilities outside of the classroom. One of the new students, Megan Gwynn, has shown some promise as well.” 

“Yes, they are both very talented-” Ororo replied sharply, holding a hand up. “but neither of them are you.”

Kurt cast her an apologetic glance, but could not come up with a response. 

“Look, man, if you…” Scott started, gesturing towards Kurt. “I mean, I know the past few months have just been...awful, basically. For all of us. In a lot of ways. If you need some time away, I completely understand.”

Kurt looked down, nodding slightly. “Thank you, Scott, but I don’t think this is something I can resolve over a long weekend. I’ve thought about it a lot and I just...There are aspects of our work that I don’t know if I can, or should, participate in anymore. I love teaching, and I love helping people. That’s what this new assignment would allow me to do. The research this organization is working on is exciting as well, for mutants as well as for the world.” He sat up proudly and placed his hands on the table. “ They call themselves Excalibur.”

Ororo scoffed, crossing her arms and leaning back, as she tried to come up with some form of rebuttal. Again, Scott spoke first. “You know, if everything that’s happened recently has taught me anything, it’s that you have to do what feels right, while you have the chance to do it. Obviously, ‘Ro and I would rather if you stayed, but if you think this new position would be good for you, and it would be good for Kitty, then I really think you should go for it.”

Kurt muttered a sincere “Thank you.”

“Goddess, Scott, you are not helping at all…” Ororo grumbled under her breath. 

**X-Men Meeting Room. Winter 1987**

“So, in conclusion, It’s important to keep in mind that the way that you present yourself is sometimes as important as your actions and words, when it comes down to how people are gonna treat you.” Raven gestured with disinterest at the projector screen, where the word ‘confidence’ had been scrawled on the overhead projector in blocky letters. “You can get away with a lot of... _dumb shit_...if you project an air of authority.” 

She hastily wrote the word ‘authority’ next to ‘confidence.’ She paused while the rest of the X-Team jotted down notes, likely for no reason other than they knew that if they didn’t, she would get mad.

“So, for example, I know a lot of people think my power is really easy for me. Like, just look like who I want to look like, and then waltz into Area Fifty-One, easy peasy.” She stood facing the long meeting table, hand on her hip. “But really, it’s very important that I get into the headspace of whoever it is I’m trying to imitate, or else some people might see through it. I mean, I’ve made myself look like General Stryker probably more than almost anyone, but every time I do it, I still gotta say to myself, ‘My name is William Stryker. I’m forty-two years old. I’m a seasoned and high-ranking member of the American military, with extensive experience suppressing and exploiting mutants, and I have a tiny little baby dick.”

“Wooo!” Jubilee called out, as Peter tipped his head back and laughed loudly. Most of the rest of the table snickered or managed to suppress giggles.

“Is that really necessary, Raven?” Charles asked with clear disapproval. 

“Oh, yeah.” Raven gave a quick nod. “Why else would he have such a chip on his shoulder?”

Charles scowled and pointed towards her, clearly with a rebuttal of some form, but Hank spoke up first. 

“Now, I certainly do not consider myself an avid adherent to the teachings of Dr. Sigmund Freud, but there may be some truth to that.” Hank began explaining academically. “A past history of severe humiliation or emasculation _can_ often lead to deep-seated anger issues and maladaptive behavior.”

Raven snapped her fingers and pointed to Hank. Charles crossed his arms and shook his head, unimpressed.

“It could be something quite simple.” Kurt offered, raising his hand slightly. “Perhaps he lost his swimming trunks at a public pool, and some mutant girls laughed at him?” 

Raven nodded in approval. 

“I admit it, I’d laugh!” Jean agreed. “Heck, I’d point _and_ laugh!” 

“Perhaps his wife hired a mutant pool cleaner who was amphibious and handsome and shirtless,” Ororo suggested. “and so he developed an unhealthy fixation on it.”

Charles sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“So, like, a _performance anxiety_ thing…” Peter crossed his arms behind his head, chuckling. “He’s like ‘I know you’re thinking about the pool boy, Sharon!’ and she’s like ‘ _Of course_ I’m thinking about the pool boy, Bill! He’s gorgeous!’”

“Must _all_ psychosexual dysfunction be centered around swimming pools?” Charles groaned.

“Makes sense to me.” Scott commented with a shrug.

“Ha!” Jubilee laughed. “So now he’s all like ‘Fuck mutants!’ all the while his wife’s at home, like, _‘_ Yeah, _fuck mutants_ …’”

Raven still stood at the front of the room, arms crossed, basking in the chaos she had created.

“Moving on…” Charles grumbled. Raven smirked, and took her seat. “Does anyone else have anything to add?”

Kurt raised a hand, second digit extended, before asking quietly, “I have a question about our new uniforms, if that’s alright?”

Charles nodded in his direction.

“So, I know that the main reason why we got these new uniforms was so we would appear to be a unified team,” Kurt started tentatively, referring to the X-Men’s new ‘blue-with-yellow-X’ outfits, “but after wearing it for the past few weeks, I’ve noted a few issues with our current design, and was hoping that- not right away, but perhaps the next time we upgrade them- I could go back to my previous uniform.”

“No, Kurt.” Charles gave an exasperated sigh. “You can’t go back to your _circus uniform_. The design was far too... _flashy_.”

“I’m sorry, but I have to disagree.” Kurt followed politely. “My uniform was designed for me by a _very_ skilled seamstress who had over _three decades_ of experience designing outfits for an entire troupe of performers, with style _and_ performance in mind. If you want to see a uniform that was _actually_ flashy, you should have seen my sister’s- the entire leotard was covered in red sequins!”

Charles furrowed his brow, but was interrupted by Peter’s loud outburst.

“Dude, I would LOVE to see your sister in a red sequin leotard. Just sayin’.”

Kurt could only manage a disgusted, “Ugh.” as he rubbed his forehead. Kurt’s mother and sister had- after finding out that Kurt was still alive when they saw an article about the X-Men in a newspaper- made the trip to visit the school earlier in the year. Ever since Kurt introduced his adoptive family to his friends, Peter had not shut up about how hot he thought Jimaine (and to a _slightly_ lesser extent, Margali) was. 

“Hey, did Jimaine say anything about me?” Peter goaded, scratching the side of his head.

“ _Ja_ , she said ‘Why wouldn’t that strange man stop staring at me?’” Kurt groaned, as he rubbed the sides of his face in frustration. 

“You tell her I’m single?” Peter followed, with a hint of legitimate curiosity.

“She _wouldn’t care_ , Peter.”

“Wasn’t Jimaine around six months pregnant when we met her?” Ororo asked innocently. 

“‘Ro, that's just-” Peter spun his chair around to face Ororo, who eyed him cautiously. “That’s just not an obstacle at all. Like, I can’t _even put into words_ how little that would deter me.”

“ _Gott im Himmel._ ” Kurt muttered, his face in his hands.

“If I could make a suggestion...” Hank said, in an attempt to redirect the conversation. Everyone looked towards him. “When I make the replacements for our current uniforms, I could just make Kurt’s in a design that’s a compromise between the current uniform and his old circus one. That way, everyone would be happy.”

“Hank, the current uniforms are _your_ design, if I recall correctly.” Charles argued.

“The construction, the improved safety features, the advancements in anti-ballistic textiles- yes, that’s my design.” Hank nodded. “The color scheme, I really couldn’t care less about. I could make the new uniforms in any color or pattern we like. And, to be frank,” Hank gestured between himself, Raven, and Kurt. “blue isn’t really our color.”

“Thank you, Hank.” Kurt replied with a smile. “And really, that’s my biggest issue with our current design. One of the more subtle aspects of my mutation is that I naturally blend into the shadows when there is low lighting. Our current uniform, with the bright yellow X on it, makes that almost impossible.”

“The bright color is intended to enhance your visibility. It’s a safety feature.” Charles explained.

“I understand that, but being _too visible_ is actually a problem for me.” Kurt countered.

“Shit, you’re right…” Raven agreed, tapping her chin. She looked up at Charles. “So, what about it, Charles? Are we heroes, or are we traffic cones?”

Charles slumped in frustration. Before he could reply, Ororo spoke up politely.

“On that note, I’ve found that our new uniform, which lacks the cape attachment that my old uniform had, actually makes it more difficult for me to fly. The cape allowed me to stabilize myself on the wind currents I generated much better.” she explained, with her hands laced together on the table, before concluding, “I would like to have my cape back.”

“Oh, great idea!” Jubilee added. “That cape looked bitchin’. _Especially_ with the whole ‘black and silver’ thing you had going on…” 

“ _Ja_ , that was a great uniform. Very regal looking.” Kurt agreed. Ororo grinned. 

“If we’re all changing up our uniforms-” Scott started.

“We are _not_.” Charles stated unequivocally.

“then I’d like to add some more pockets to my uniform.” Scott concluded. “My old uniform had more pockets, and I miss them.”

“Yeah, me too!” Jean turned to Scott, gesturing towards him. “You had Band-Aids in there, spare batteries for the communicators…”

“Road flares, antiseptic spray…” Kurt echoed. 

“That’s a very practical choice, Scott.” Hank lauded. “I can do that, no problem.” 

“Oh!” Peter leaned across the table, pointing at Scott. “If you’re getting a new uniform with more pockets, you should get it done like your old uniform, that had that shoulder strap for attaching things to. That was, like, a fuckin’ sweet look for you.” Scott perked up, eyebrow raised. “Like, your outfit now is like, you know, _alright_...but your old uniform was like ‘Damn, that guys works out.’”

“Oh, you think?” Scott replied, blushing slightly. “Thanks, man.”

“And if we’re on the topic of trying to make ourselves as _bangable_ as possible-” Jubilee interjected, and Charles huffed and pinched the bridge of his nose again. “Jean? You need to switch your uniform to, like, a forest green. It’s totally your color, and it’ll look rad with your hair.” 

“Love it.” Jean stated seriously, nodding.

“With gold accents!” Ororo added excitedly.

“Yes! Absolutely.” Jean agreed, nodding more vigorously. 

“Also, Peter? I think your old silver outfit was more flattering to you.” Kurt suggested politely. “It looked better with your hair and your complexion.” Despite himself, Peter beamed.

“And, like, obviously I’m just gonna start wearing my yellow jacket and sunglasses again…” Jubilee added, as she took said sunglasses from her pocket and put them on, leaning back as far as her chair would allow her. A series of affirmative murmurs were heard.

“So, in that case, if we’re going to be making modifications...” Hank said, having jotted down some notes while everyone else was talking.

“We absolutely are **not** , Hank.” Charles snapped.

“I have been considering eliminating the upper part of my uniform, and just keeping the pants. I find the jacket component to be very confining for my physique when I use my powers.” Hank explained, adjusting his glasses and motioning towards his very broad chest.

“Plus, if bad guys can see how totally ripped you are, they’re going to be _really_ intimidated.” Scott added helpfully.

“Well, if you’re gonna be topless-” Raven pointed at Hank, before gesturing towards herself, “then I wanna be completely naked. Like, one hundred percent fully nude, twenty-four-seven.” 

“No!” Charles finally shouted. “No pockets, no circus outfits, no capes, no color schemes, and no.. _.indecent exposure_! We are leaving the uniforms as-is, and that’s final!”

A series of disappointed grumbles were heard throughout the room.

Charles pointedly picked up the papers arranged in front of him and shuffled them. “Now, does anyone else have anything to add?”

“Ooh!” Peter leaned into the table excitedly, holding a finger up. Charles acknowledged him with an upward nod. “Can I have a hat?”

“ **No** , Peter, you may not have a _hat_.”

Peter sank dejectedly back into his chair.

“Now, if no one has anything else to add...” Charles paused to glare threateningly at the rest of his team. “We have an announcement- Ms. Lee will be leaving us soon, to return to California.”

Jubilee nodded in confirmation, and the entire team seemed to groan in disappointment, with the exception of Raven, who exclaimed, “Oh, no!” 

“Jubilation is going to be spearheading a new mutant youth outreach program that should allow us to better serve the West Coast.” Charles elaborated.

“Goddamit, Charles, why can’t you send one of these other clowns?” Raven whispered harshly to Charles, not nearly as quietly as she should have.

Charles shot Raven a look, and then added, at normal conversational volume, “She volunteered for this position, and has been instrumental in it’s planning.”

“Is everything all right?” Ororo asked, reaching over to place a hand on Jubilee’s shoulder. 

“Oh, yeah. I’ve just been feeling a little homesick. Plus, this whole ‘beating up bad guys’ gig isn’t something I wanna be doing forever…” she explained, smiling at Ororo as she pushed her sunglasses up into her hair. “Plus, this way we can help more kids who can’t just drop everything and move to New York.”

Soon, the conversation evolved into a chorus of well-wishes and questions and declarations of ‘We’ll miss you!’ and ‘I’ll miss you too!’ and ‘Come visit!’. 

“I wish you would have told us you were thinking of leaving.” Jean said, reaching sympathetically across the table to Jubilee.

“Yeah, sorry. I guess it’s kinda shitty to spring it on you guys like this.” Jubilee admitted, “I just thought that if I said anything, you’d all put a bunch of effort into trying to convince me to stay-”

“I mean, _obviously…_ ” Scott confirmed.

“And I really think that this is the right move for me. So I decided to keep it between the Professor and me.” she concluded with a shrug. 

Kurt clapped his hands together, clasping them. “We will have to throw you a going-away party!” Everyone quickly agreed.

“Calm down, guys! I’m not leaving right away. I’ll be here for another month-and-a-half, at least!” Jubilee laughed, basking in her friend’s attention.

“Hear that, gang?” Peter glanced around the room, holding his hands out. “Sounds like we got about six weeks to put together the _wildest_ , most _righteous_ going-away party EVER!” 

Another round of resounding, enthusiastic agreement, and the ‘meeting’ quickly devolved into excited chitchat, with the exception of Raven, who continued to glare angrily at Charles with her arms crossed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song's title is a line from the excellent song "Mary Jane's Last Dance" by Tom Petty And The Heartbreakers, released in 1993. It's pretty fitting for this chapter, I think. 
> 
> In the Excalibur comic, Kurt does help tutor Meggan in reading. He's probably a much better teacher than Brian would be. 
> 
> In the flashback, I threw in some references to the uniforms that the team uses in the Dark Phoenix movie, which most fans agree don't look as cool as their various comic uniforms, or the uniforms that were teased at the end of Apocalypse. When describing everyone's preferred uniform, I kinda just went with ones I'd seen in either comics or in other movies that I thought looked good. I also really wanted to make some dick jokes, because mentally I am twelve. 
> 
> Please be warned, next chapter gets a bit heavy.


	13. Walking On Broken Glass

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter enlists his friend's help in trying to sort out his problems. Kurt and Kitty discuss their respective futures. In a flashback, Kurt and Hank deal with Raven's death in different ways.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter, more than previous chapters, revolves around various plot points from the movie. Some of these are pretty self-explanatory, but I'll provide a little explanation at the end of the chapter that should make things more clear for anyone who hasn't seen Dark Phoenix (which, I guess, is most people).

The shrill, deafening sound of a medical alarm pierced Peter’s ears, tearing him from a deep sleep. He thrashed awake, flailing his arms and sitting up immediately, eyes scanning over his own body, and then around his surroundings as he tried to identify the source of the noise. It took far too long to realize that there was none. He had been dreaming, and the sound was in his head. For the second time that night, and the tenth time that week, the sound had been in his head.

He pressed the heel of his uncasted palm against one reddened, burning eye and flopped back onto his pillow, struggling to catch his breath and calm down. Peter’s heart would not ‘pound,’ _per se_ , so much as cause a deep vibration of his ribcage and a droning hum in his ears. 

Soon, he sat up again, swinging his legs over the side of his bed and looking around him. A small amount of light was beginning to creep in the window, highlighting the random assortment of clutter. He had been back in his room for about two weeks and - although it lacked the brightly lit sterility of his medbay room- it now had the feeling of being cold and silent and empty. Hank still recommended a light daily schedule of restricted exercise and minimal chores and teaching assignments, even while all his friends were busier than they had ever been. This resulted in him being alone and bored for _hours_ at a time. 

He glanced towards the glow-in-the-dark hands of his alarm clock, and gave a disgusted scoff at how early it was. Regardless, he hopped up and into a rumpled pair of ripped, faded jeans and a Screaming Trees t-shirt. He wasn’t going back to sleep any time soon, and if his memory of everyone else’s schedule was correct, he might be lucky enough to run into some of his teammates in the kitchen before they had to run off to their various tasks. 

Ororo would engage him in polite conversation about how he’d been feeling, and try to include him in some sort of school-related outing. Scott would talk about how they were getting along in the gym, and his rehab goals for Peter in the coming weeks. Hank would gently interrogate him about whether Peter had been following his meticulously laid-out recovery plan. Kurt would quickly rattle off a couple of lines before leaving as soon as possible, without making eye contact. 

Peter’s mood sank even further, and he walked towards his mirror, sparing himself only half a glance. If anyone else had noticed the tension between him and Kurt, they hadn’t said anything. But it had been over a week since they last spoke, and Peter felt as if the situation had, if anything, only gotten worse. It had been too easy for Kurt to just carve him out of his life entirely, after how close they had gotten. 

Peter gave his head a small shake, glaring in disapproval at his annoyingly-long shaggy hair. He picked up his comb, but froze with it inches from his head, He set it down and ran a palmful of pomade through it instead, slicking it back. He had never known Kurt to hold a grudge. Kurt had always been slow to anger and quick to forgive- for Christ’s sake, he even forgave his piece-of-shit older brother for selling him to mutant traffickers (or trading him for drugs or something like that, the details were hazy.) Peter thought bitterly that maybe he should be proud that Kurt decided to make a special exception just for him. Normally, even his worst actions lacked consequences- most people just accepted that he was a douchebag and adjusted their expectations accordingly. Clearly, this was all Kurt’s fault for missing that particular memo, and therefore it was Kurt who was the jerkass for not forgiving him, right? Wasn’t he basically _obligated_ to forgive people? Like, he had to for religious reasons, or else he would go to Hell, or something like that? Peter had even apologized! Kinda. Maybe. Peter almost never apologised, so he was a little unclear if he actually had or not. Does saying ‘My bad!’ count as an apology? If it doesn’t, then it should.

Peter walked aimlessly around his room, shoving his foot into one worn-out sneaker, and then shuffling around until he located the other one. He wished he could say to himself ‘I just want my friend back.’ He’d love if a quick handshake and a return to mundane everyday civility would be enough to satisfy him. But he knew it wouldn’t. He wanted to hear Kurt make the same sounds he made when Peter had him shoved against his bedroom wall. He wanted to feel those strong, strange hands all over him, on his face, in his hair. He wanted to hear Kurt laugh at one of his stupid stories, and then rest his head on Peter’s shoulder while he recounted one of his own. He wanted Kurt to look at him the way that he had that day in the medbay when he- actually, more of that entire situation would be great. But more than anything, he wanted Kurt’s daily presence, his affection and concern, the way he made Peter feel cared about in a way he hadn’t felt since he was a child (and honestly, probably not even then.) He needed it, he needed _all of it_. **Everything**. Every _fucking scrap_ , and he couldn’t sleep or think until he got it, and now he never would, because he was such a fucking asshole that he managed to convince the nicest person he ever met to hate him. Fuck.

After some searching, Peter finally located his goggles, next to his Nintendo controller and under an empty potato chip bag. He pulled them over his head and the snugness of the strap was comfortingly familiar. Everything else was so different now. In his mind, he had been sitting at breakfast one morning and then woke up in a hospital bed two months later, covered in stitches and IVs. Half the team had either been killed or left, and those that remained were just not the same. He remembered Kurt’s offhand comments about going to Hell and hiding from God. What had happened to his happy friend? Maybe that man was dead, and it was better if he didn’t know. 

As Peter opened his door and made his way up the hall, he thought about how, along with everything else that had changed, his dad and Charles were apparently boyfriends now? For some reason, the line ‘And the dish ran away with the spoon’ played in his head. 

As he entered the kitchen, he saw his teammates puttering around, fixing themselves breakfast. Ororo had just sat down and was currently cutting segments from a half of a grapefruit, while Scott gave the milk carton a quick sniff-check before pouring it over his cornflakes. Kurt poured coffee into a mug, and leaned towards the kitchen island to inspect the fruit in the fruit bowl. 

“‘Sup, guys.” Peter rattled off as he entered the room. A chorus of tired responses were heard. Ororo shoved the chair next to her away from the table, smiling and indicating for Peter to sit in it, just as Scott took his place directly across from it. 

Peter took the offered seat, but kept watching as Kurt took a second mug from the cupboard, filled it, shoved a granola bar in his shirt pocket and grabbed a banana with his tail. “I have to get to that breakfast meeting with Hank,” he muttered quickly, without looking towards his friends. He carefully picked up both mugs with one hand, grabbed an orange with the other, and ‘BAMF’ed away with a barely-audible, “ _Auf Wiedersehen_.”

“Huh.” Peter scowled slightly, waiting for someone else to make a comment.

His two remaining teammates continued with their breakfast as if nothing had happened, with Scott mixing his cereal into his milk and Ororo delicately scattering a spoonful of sugar over her grapefruit. 

“Oh! Peter!” Ororo perked up, looking towards him and setting her spoon down. “My Environmental Sciences class is taking a field trip to the aquarium this Friday. Did you want to come along?”

Peter, still in a foul mood, slumped into his chair. “C’mon, ‘Ro! The aquarium is such a rip-off. Last time, I couldn’t even see the octopus.” 

“Yes, I know!” Ororo replied pleasantly. “That’s why they’re so popular. They are masters of disguise.” Peter stared back, unimpressed. “Plus, they have a new exhibit where you can pick up a starfish.”

“Okay, fine.” Peter huffed. Ororo smiled and returned her attention to her grapefruit. 

“Oh! And I was thinking…” Scott chimed in next, gesturing towards Peter with his spoon in one hand and his bowl in the other, “I’ve been trying to figure out the best way to work on your core strength in the gym while, you know....taking into account that you’re, like, recovering from _major abdominal surgery_ and all that…”

Peter cringed internally, but tried to just nod along. 

“So anyway, just hear me out-” Scott had set down his utensils and held his hands out to Peter for dramatic effect. “Planks! Starting next week, we’re gonna be doing planks!”

Peter suppressed the intense urge to scream ‘Fuck you, Summers!’ in favor of nodding some more. “That’s...That sounds good, dude. Can do.” Peter somehow made this sound convincing enough that Scott appeared satisfied and went back to eating his cereal.

Peter watched with annoyance as his friends returned to idly eating and flipping through sections of the newspaper. He eyed them up, sighing and leaning back in his chair, arms crossed. “So, like...what the fuck is wrong with Kurt?”

Ororo and Scott both looked at him in confusion, and then glanced towards each other. 

“He’s...fine?” Scott replied, incredulous even behind his visor.

Ororo sighed and laced her hands together. “He’s been working a lot. He could be getting a little burned out, I suppose?” Scott shrugged and nodded in agreement. 

“Nope.” Peter shook his head, and picked at the edge of the placemat in front of him. “No, it’s gotta be something other than that. He’s, like, _really_ fucked up.” 

Scott sank back in his seat and looked to Ororo, who had tensed and was now fidgeting with her fingers. “Look, I don’t know what to tell you, man.” Scott started. “It’s been a pretty traumatic few months. It could be literally anything of, like, _dozens_ of things, or it could be all of it.”

Ororo nodded solemnly. “I know he blamed himself for what initially happened to Jean during the space mission. You were there. Do you still not remember?”

Peter, who was starting to regret having said anything, shook his head rapidly. 

“And then at the same time you were injured, Raven was killed.” Scott added. “He didn’t say much at the funeral. I don’t think he’s really _dealt with_ all that, to be honest.”

“True, but there really wasn’t time to _deal_ with anything, it was just one crisis after another.” Ororo followed, turning towards Peter, “We were trying to get to Jean, your father showed up with his... _sycophants_ , we _all_ got arrested, the train was attacked and we had to fight our way out of _that_ situation as well, after which Jean-”

“Left.” Scott interjected softly.

“Yes.” Ororo stared at her hands, laced together on the table. “And even as the dust settled, so to speak, Charles left us for your father. You were gravely injured, and at the time we didn’t expect you’d survive.” She paused and swallowed, adding quietly, “It was an extremely difficult time.”

“Holy shit.” Peter breathed. “I’m starting to think I lucked out by being able to sleep through the whole thing.”

“I’d have a hard time disagreeing with that.” Scott admitted.

Peter continued to pick at the placemat, not making eye contact, as an uncomfortable silence fell over the room. He took a deep breath and considered just letting it go, but he could not. “But was there something-” he asked quietly, against his own better judgement, “The other day, Kurt said he had done something _so bad_ that he ‘tried to hide it from God’? Does that make sense?” 

Ororo straightened and her eyes widened, and she looked to Scott, who stared back at her before uttering a simple “Fuck.”

Ororo turned to better face Peter, pressing her palms together and pointing them towards him on the table. “Now, you need to understand that this was a very dire, very life-or-death situation.” she stated, staring at him intensely. “We faced a completely unknown, powerful enemy, and the consequences for our failure to defeat them were potentially catastrophic.”

“Oh...kay…” Peter stilled in apprehension. “So what happened?”

Scott leaned into the table with his elbows, his hands laced together, his face immeasurably serious. “Kurt killed _a lot_ of people.” 

Peter pulled back, mouth gaping in disbelief. It just couldn’t be true. Kurt didn’t even like hurting people’s _feelings_.

“They weren’t really people, though. They were aliens.” Ororo was quick to point out. “Very violent, aggressive aliens. It was very much a ‘self-defense’ situation.”

“Oh, absolutely.” Scott agreed. “But I’m not sure if that’s really a meaningful distinction, from Kurt’s perspective.” 

“I don’t think he really had a choice.” Ororo countered. “He didn’t even look like himself. He was like a wild animal. I’d never seen him like that before.” 

“Well, yeah,” Scott looked down with a slight shrug, “but I’m pretty sure there isn’t a part of the Bible that says ‘Thou shalt not kill, unless they’re aliens and you’re really mad.’”

“You’d know.” Ororo slumped, gesturing towards Scott. “You were raised in a Christian household. I wasn’t.”

“Do you think that might _actually_ be why he’s leaving, though?” Scott turned to Ororo, furrowing his brow. “Maybe he can’t handle the guilt and he’s trying to start from scratch?”

Ororo gave a long, sad exhale. “It could be.”

“Uh...wait, what?” Peter, who had been nervously watching the discussion, sat up and grabbed the edge of the table. “Kurt’s _leaving_? When? To go where?”

Again, Scott and Ororo glanced at each other in confusion. “To go to England, near the start of the next semester.” Ororo explained. “I’m sure he would have mentioned it. You probably just weren’t paying attention.”

“Yeah, there’s no way he wouldn’t tell you.” Scott nodded. “You guys spend so much time together. It’s a pretty big deal.”

Peter sank into his chair, dropping his hands uselessly into his lap. “Well, he didn’t say shit to me about it. In case you haven't noticed, we’ve kinda been on the outs for a while.” 

Ororo gave an exasperated sigh and crossed her arms. “Now, what did you do this time?”

Peter scoffed, waving his hand at her. “That’s not important. Why would he go to England? What the fuck is so special about England?”

“Him and Kitty Pryde are going to work on some sort of mutant-centric scientific research initiative.” Scott explained, and went back to trying to eat his cereal. “Hank offered it to him. It’s mainly a teaching position, I think.”

“Fuck!” Peter swore, and then fled from the table before he could hear another word.

******

Kurt found Kitty in the library, studying for her upcoming exams. His meeting with Hank had been brief, and functioned only to finalize the details of his new job in England. The final copies of the paperwork, as well as more information about Excalibur and the other people involved in it, were contained in a plain manila folder he had tucked under his arm. He pulled the seat next to Kitty away from the table, and she smiled at him when he sat down, closing her Advanced Cybernetics book over.

“A little light reading?” he teased.

“Ugh, no. I wish.” She rolled her eyes and crossed her arms on the table. “How’s your day going?”

“Not too bad.” he replied with a small shrug.

“I see.” She nodded, and chewed her lip. “Did you happen to see Hank recently, by any chance?” she asked next, trying to sound casual.

“In fact, I did!” Kurt grinned, and set the folder he was carrying on the table next to her. “You should buy yourself an umbrella, _Kätzchen,_ because we are going to England.”

“Omigosh!” she squealed, but then quickly ducked her head and shushed herself when the other studying students shot her a look. “Omigosh, that’s amazing!” she said again, much quieter. She threw her arms around his neck, happily muttering ‘Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

Kurt froze awkwardly with his hands held up for a second as Kitty hugged him, eventually settling for patting her shoulder. “No need to thank me! I’m looking forward to starting something new.”

Kitty sat back in her own chair, and took a deep breath and tucked her hair behind her ear as she allowed herself to calm down. “Are you really, though?” she asked in a hushed, apprehensive voice. “You aren’t just doing this cuz Hank’s making you or something?”

“Ha!” He grinned and placed a hand on her shoulder. “Hank can’t make me do things.”

“Yeah, but, like, I dunno…” She looked down and scratched her head. “I just don’t want you to have to upend your whole life, ya know?” 

He returned a confident smile, tilting his head and crossing his arms. “Have you ever seen the inside of my room, _Kätzchen?_ There really isn’t much to ‘upend.’”

She laughed, and then ducked down again as she was harshly shushed from across the room.

“Besides,” Kurt started, leaning closer so they could speak quieter, “Hank and I have discussed Excalibur’s work at-length, including both of our roles in it.” He opened the folder he had set down, and flipped through the pages until he reached a page that had a photograph of the current Excalibur team paperclipped to it. “I really think that this will be a good move for me, career-wise. Aside from supervising your education and performing some mechanical duties, I’ll also be tutoring one of their current members in English literacy.” He tapped the part of the photo where Meggan Puceanu stood, smiling with her hand on the very-thick forearm of Brian Braddock. 

“Oh, is this the team?” Kitty grinned when Kurt nodded, and plucked the photo off the file to look at it more closely. She shot an impish glance towards Kurt and looked at the photo some more. “She’s _really_ beautiful.” 

Kurt craned his neck so he could also see the picture. “Hmm. I suppose she is.” 

Meggan Puceanu was a tall, curvaceous young woman, with a smile almost as bright as her fitted orange cowl-necked sweater. The tips of her pointed ears could just barely be seen peeking out from her thick, flowing blonde hair. 

“And this young woman is named Rachel. I understand she has some telepathic abilities.” he said next, pointing to a thin, serious-looking woman with a red, close-cropped modern hairstyle and somewhat androgenous-looking clothes. 

“And that must be Mr. Braddock!” Kitty followed, pointing at the large, muscular man with a lantern jaw and a curly blond mullet. “He looks like one of those pro-wrestler guys!”

Kurt snickered. “You’re right! He does!” He pointed to another person in the picture. “This fellow in the sweater-vest is Alistaire Stuart. He’s a science advisor for the Intelligence branch of the British government, or something like that. He has an official title of some form, that makes him sound very smart.” 

“Hmm, yes. Very smart, I’m sure.” Kitty replied mockingly, flashing a smirk. 

Kurt laughed under his breath, and reached for the rest of the files. “There is also a geneticist from Scotland who works with them sometimes, but she apparently wasn’t there when the picture was taken.” He pulled another picture from the stack of papers. “And this is where we’ll be living!”

Kitty gasped. “Is that a _lighthouse_?”

“ _Ja_!”

“That’s _so cool_!” 

Kurt went about describing what Hank had told him about the lighthouse they would be staying in and the type of work they would be doing upon their initial arrival for several minutes. He pointed out corresponding details on the provided files, until he realized that Kitty was not looking at the papers, but rather staring at him with a curious look in her eye.

“Is there something on my face?” he asked, amused.

“Oh! No…” She smiled warmly and tilted her head. “I just noticed that it looks like you used to have your ear pierced. It was just kinda surprising.”

Without thinking, Kurt tugged at his own earlobe. “You’re right. I did, a long time ago.”

“Both of them, or just that one?”

He turned his head to demonstrate the other ear, which also had a small indent in the lobe. “Both!”

Kitty laughed. “I, like, _can not_ picture you with earrings.”

Kurt was struck with the realization that, unlike his other friends, Kitty had only ever known him as a teacher- which meant she really didn’t know anything about him at all. If they were to be living and working together in a tiny lighthouse in a different country, that would have to change. 

“Actually, where I grew up, it was quite normal for men to wear earrings.” he explained, as he continued to feel his own earlobe. “In particular, my older brother had _several_ in each ear, and I admired him. So my sister kindly offered to pierce mine with a sewing needle. My mother was….less than impressed, but I was very pleased with the result!”

“And then what happened?” Kitty asked, “Why did you take them out? Did they get infected?”

“No, not at all. They healed fine, and I wore them for several years.” he replied with a nod, but she continued to look to him for an answer. He licked his lips and looked down. “They...I was in a situation where anything I had of value was taken from me. That included my earrings, as well as a few other things. I doubt the jewelry itself was actually worth anything, but it was shiny and so it had to go.”

It was probably the simplest way for him to describe the day that his older brother, having failed to procure them both work at another circus but having succeeded at becoming addicted to heroin, sold Kurt to mutant traffickers. Once Kurt was immobilized by the effects of a mutation-suppressing drug, he was stripped of anything they could use or re-sell- his wallet, his belt, his earrings, and the small crucifix he wore. It wasn’t long before the majority of his clothing was taken as well- as an exhibit in a freak show, he wouldn’t be needing it.

Kitty winced, her eyes wide with sympathy. “Oh, no! Were you mugged?”

Kurt clicked his tongue against his teeth. “Sort of.”

“Aw…”

She fidgeted with the pages in the folder briefly, and then looked back up to him. “You know...I have a set of small plain hoops I don’t wear anymore. If you wanted, you could have them.”

“That’s very kind, _Kätzchen,_ ” he replied, “but I’m sure the holes have long since grown over.”

“Pfft, no biggie!” Her eyes lit up mischievously. “All we need is some rubbing alcohol, an ice cube, a safety pin, and a potato!”

“A _potato_?”

“Hmm-mm.”

“What’s that for?”

“You’ll see!”

Despite himself, when Kitty stood and gathered her books, he followed along. With the folder containing both of their futures tucked under his arm, he kept at her heel as she made her way out of the library and up the hall, both of them smiling.

“I take it you’ve done this before?”

“Me and Noriko pierced Rahne’s ears in the bathroom last month.”

“The poor thing! Did she make out okay?” 

“She only threw up a little bit.”

“ _Gott im Himmel_ …”

******

Peter, despondent, wandered aimlessly through the halls of the mansion. There was no way that Kurt was actually leaving, much less going to England with Kitty Pryde- a nerdy kid who wore overalls unironically. And Scott and Ororo’s explanation just didn’t make sense. Why would Kurt get so upset over some dead bad guys who weren’t even human, and totally had it coming? Doesn’t he just have to let Jesus know he’s really really sorry, and then everything’s all good? Peter had done more fucking-up than most people- it could be said that he was an expert in the field. One thing he had learned was that no matter what he did, all he usually had to do in order to make people get over it was just wait. Given some time, most people forgot and moved on. 

Someone should tell Kurt he just needs to fucking chill- life’s hard enough, no need to go and try and punish _yourself_. Peter wondered what would happen if _he_ was the one to tell Kurt that. Probably nothing good, with his track record. He stopped his endless pacing to rest against the wall, arms crossed while he watched students and staff pass him by. He wished he could be the kind of person - a better friend, a better _man-_ who could be there when Kurt needed him, who could hold him and tell him everything was going to be okay, and have him actually believe it. But, knowing him, he’d probably find some way to create an even bigger clusterfuck out of an already-clusterfucked situation.

He clenched his eyes shut with frustration when he felt a sudden, intense itch from deep underneath his cast. He feebly tried to dig the fingers of his uncasted hand underneath the edge of the cast to try and scratch it, but it was unreachable. He started a mental run-down of nearby objects he might be able to jam in there, when he was struck with the recollection that Hank had told him he could get his cast off today. Under normal circumstances, getting his much-loathed cast removed would be the highlight of his week or possibly year, but he now cared so little about it, it had completely slipped his mind. But, at the very least, once his cast was off, it wouldn’t itch anymore. 

Peter was in Hank’s office in a fraction of a second, startling the large blue man by flinging himself into the well-worn chair across from his desk. 

“‘Sup, big guy.” Peter commented as Hank struggled to regain his bearings and stabilize his semi-airborne office supplies.

“Peter!” Hank managed as he re-stacked his files, “You’re here about your cast, I presume?”

Peter gave a shrug and a slight nod.

“Honestly, I expected you to be at my door when I came in this morning.” 

“Eh, it kinda slipped my mind.”

“No matter,” Hank stood and adjusted his lab coat, throwing a few pens into the pocket protector, “this will only take a moment. Please follow me.”

A few minutes later, Peter was back in Hank’s office, frantically scratching the gross flakey skin off his newly-uncasted arm.

“Please stop that.” Hank requested as he glanced up from some notes he was jotting on a pad of paper.

“It’s itchy!” Peter whined.

Hank huffed and shook his head, and ripped the sheet of paper off of the pad. “Now, you’re going to notice some weakness in that arm for the next while, until you complete your rehab.” He held the paper out for Peter to take. “You’ll note the arm is also thinner than the other one. That should also resolve itself in time, given some work. I understand Scott has been assisting you with getting back into shape?”

“Pfft, yeah. He wants me doing, like, _planks_ and shit.” Peter replied, taking the paper and stuffing it in his pants pocket.

“Good.” Hank gave a quick nod of approval, and Peter scowled. “Just give him this note. It has some recommendations of the types of exercises I feel would be most beneficial to your continued recovery. He’ll understand what I’m talking about.”

“Cool.”

Hank leaned over, opening a file cabinet and pulling out a blue folder. He flipped through the pages within, plucked a pen from his pocket, and clicked it. “Now, before you go, I have a few quick questions-” he stated, glancing up briefly from the page. “Have you had any headaches recently?”

“Uh, nope.”

“Short-term memory issues?”

“No.”

“Difficulty sleeping?”

“Yeah, kinda.”

“Heart palpitations?”

“What’s that?”

“Hmm. Well, most people describe it as a pounding feeling in their chest. You, I’d imagine, would probably feel more of a strong vibration, possibly associated with a feeling of lightheadedness or nausea.”

“Um, then maybe? Mostly at night.”

“I see…” Hank jotted notes in his chart. “Any other concerns?” 

“Ah, yeah.” Peter slouched down in the chair, crossing his arms. “Scott and ‘Ro were telling me that Kurt’s leaving? That’s a concern to me.”

Hank raised an eyebrow and put his pen back into his pocket. “I was more interested in _medical_ concerns, as your doctor.”

“Well, yeah, but they were saying that you were the one that offered him this new job,” Peter started, even though he was unsure what the conversation was supposed to accomplish. “and I know that, like, you guys have been fighting. But I’m just thinkin’, like, just because you’re mad at him doesn’t mean you get to send him away to the fuckin’ UK or whatever.”

Hank pulled back, with a look of utter bewilderment on his face. “I’m not mad at Kurt. Why would I be mad at him?” When Peter could only offer a useless shrug in return, Hank continued, “We’re definitely not fighting. I’m not sure how you would have gotten that idea…”

Again, Peter just shrugged lamely and scratched his head.

Hank took a deep breath and adjusted his glasses, taking a moment to look at Peter with an expression that resembled sympathy. “Peter, I offered Kurt the position in question in good faith, with no obligations, and I was as surprised as you are that he actually accepted it. I am _definitely_ not trying to ‘send him away,’ and in fact I would personally prefer if he stayed.”

Peter shifted awkwardly in his chair, now feeling embarrassed for having said anything.

Hank continued, having laced his hands together on the desk. “Really, I think it is noteworthy that you’re asking me this question _now_ , and not _over a week ago_ , when I first offered Kurt the job. The fact that he did not discuss it with you before agreeing to it, and apparently didn’t even tell you about it himself, is surprising to me-” Hank elaborated, in his typical even tone, “ _especially_ taking into account the, uh, changes to the nature of your relationship since you’ve recovered from your coma.” 

Peter’s mouth dropped open. “Uh, what do you mean?” he feigned, even as he realized it was stupid to do so.

“I mean how you and Kurt’s relationship had taken on a more-” Hank explained, and cleared his throat. “ _physical_ aspect.”

Peter could already feel his face heating up. “How-” he stammered. 

“There is a closed-circuit video surveillance system that allows me to remotely monitor the patient care rooms in the medbay.” Hank remained unshakably professional. 

“O-oh.” Peter tried and failed to play it cool, knowing full well that he must have turned completely red by now. “So you know about, uh-”

“Yes.” Hank answered plainly, in an attempt to save them both some embarrassment. 

“So you would have saw the, uh-” Peter continued unabated. 

“Let’s just say ‘yes’ and-” 

“The blowjob?”

Hank took off his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Yes, Peter.”

“Huh.”

“Now, please be clear that I’m not judging you or Kurt for this. I’ve long since stopped caring what sort of... _entanglements_...the people around me find themselves in. I also thought that perhaps Kurt would be a good influence on you. Frankly, you’ve always struck me as a little unmoored.”

Peter wasn’t sure what that meant, but by this point he was afraid to ask.

“But if things between the two of you have degraded to the point that you now find yourself in _my_ office, asking me what _I_ did to force Kurt away, then I expect you have some work to do.”

Peter looked down, picking at the fray at the knee of his jeans, and let out a long sigh. “Look, man, I’m sorry.” he muttered guiltily. “I just- I noticed things were tense between you two, and I just jumped to conclusions...” He sat back, crossing his ankle at his knee and scratching at his arm again. “I think maybe I just missed so much while I was out, that I’m just trying to piece together what everyone else is going through...and doing a pretty shit job of it, if we’re being honest.” 

“Please, Peter, don’t be so hard on yourself.” Hank slid his hand across the desk towards him. “You’re doing the best you can, and there really isn’t a script for these things.” Hank took off his glasses and began to clean them with the lapel of his lab coat as he continued. “For example, I’m starting to realize how the way I’ve acted since everything happened has not been in the best interest of myself or the people around me. But I couldn’t see it at the time, and I’ll never know for sure what kind of effect my behaviour has had on others. All I can do is try to do better moving forward.”

Peter sat quietly for once in his life, with a hand on each elbow. Hank put his glasses back on and sat forward, his elbows on the desk. “You see, when people experience the death of a loved one, others will often say ‘Sorry for your loss.’ Because that’s what it is- a loss. Not just of the individual that died, but of a myriad of other things you had wrapped up in your relationship and experiences with them- things about your personality, how you relate to others...People say ‘Sorry for your loss,’ because _you have lost_. You _are less_.”

Hank made a slight gesture towards Peter’s shoulder. “Now, imagine you were to lose that arm in a fight. One of our many enemies just ripped it off somehow. How would you feel about that?”

Peter gave a helpless shrug, mouth moving in silence until he managed, “Angry, I guess.”

“No doubt you would.” Hank agreed, his voice still even. “But you would also be traumatized by the pain, incapacitated by blood loss. You would be disabled in ways you couldn’t possibly anticipate. You would still be angry, yes, but your ability to do anything about it would be markedly diminished. You spend the rest of your life always knowing what it was like to have two arms, but never being able to experience that feeling again.”

“Oh…” Peter breathed, rubbing his chin. “Shit.”

“So that’s essentially where I’m at…” Hank continued, “Raven is gone and I’m still trying to figure out how things are different, what I can expect from myself...to, as you’ve noted, variable success.” 

“Look, dude, I wasn't trying to give you a hard time…”

“Of course not, Peter. I know that. Moreover, your observations are completely fair.” Hank sat back, the chair creaking, as he folded his hands in his lap. He stared at the jumbled contents of his desk in silence, until he took a long, slow breath. “Did you know that I was the only one that Raven told about Kurt, when he was first born? She called me from Germany in the middle of the night, simply because she didn’t know what else to do.”

Peter shook his head.

“I offered to take him from her, and raise him here. She refused. We weren’t together at the time, and she didn’t want me involved.”

Peter continued to sit in uncomfortable silence, with the distinct feeling that he was learning something he shouldn't know- something too private, too intimate to be shared with someone like him.

“Now, of course, years later Raven moves back home, she brings Kurt with her- albeit with him having been raised by someone else. We start dating again, things go well. We sometimes talk about marriage, which sometimes includes the idea of me adopting Kurt, so we could make a little family of our own. Naturally this idea fell by the wayside when Kurt’s foster family reemerged, but it didn’t really completely go away. Over the years, the institute really did start to feel like a home, the people in it all being a family of sorts. Raven and I still talked about marriage or running away together, but it was always in the context of ‘maybe’ and ‘someday.’ And, well, you can see how that turned out.”

Hank sat forward, resting his elbows on the desk, locking eyes with Peter. “And so, the additional insult to all this loss and devastation is not only that it was all caused, either directly or indirectly, by people I loved and trusted, but also how it left us all in the aftermath. Raven was not my wife. Kurt was not my son. We _all_ believed we had forged this beautiful, complex family for ourselves, but now, those of us who remain are just coworkers who live in the same house.”

Peter stared at the floor, giving a slight nod and rubbing the lower part of his face. “Yeah, but I kinda thought we were friends, though.” he admitted, practically whispering. “This whole time, I thought we were friends.”

**Hank’s Medical Clinic. Fall, 1993. The Night Before Raven’s Funeral**

Kurt stood in the dimly-lit examination room in Hank’s medical clinic space. It was currently serving as a morgue- something that, up until today, they hadn’t needed. Raven’s body lay on an examination table, completely covered in a white sheet. 

He hesitated in the doorway, but eventually forced himself to step forward. He had put off coming here as long as he could, much to his own shame. The institute was in utter chaos, and there was so much that needed doing, and yet so little that could be done. He had spent a long time trying to console Scott, but when that proved ineffective, he settled for making sure Scott’s tie for the funeral tomorrow was pre-tied, so all he would have to do was put it over his head and tighten it. Kurt knew that Jean normally tied Scott’s ties for him. 

Kurt had gone to Ororo’s room next, but his well-intentioned attempt to ‘check up on her’ had quickly dissolved into them simply holding each other and crying together. Maybe that was what they both needed. 

He then went to the kitchen, and threw together a large, simple, relatively bland baked pasta dish that could be easily reheated, and attached a note to the fridge informing everyone of its presence. He himself had no appetite, but he knew in times like these, people often neglect to eat or feel unable to prepare meals for themselves. He went to find the Professor next, to see how he was doing. Charles was bearing the whole situation rather stoically, which Kurt had been informed was typical of British people. So, Kurt just asked if Charles needed anything, and told him about the dinner in the fridge, both of which Charles politely dismissed.

He wandered down to the med bay next, to see if Hank was there. He wasn’t, but Peter was, having apparently been stabilized by a dizzying assortment of tubes and wires and electrodes and machines. Kurt could barely manage to get one toe inside the room Peter was in- his friend’s face was blood-smeared, black-and-blue, and swollen beyond recognition. Kurt began to feel hot and nauseated and he had to turn away. 

He looked for Hank a few more minutes, teleporting here and there and glancing around Hank’s last known whereabouts, but the other blue man was nowhere to be found. And so finally, he made his way to the room where Raven was.

He willed himself to approach her body, looking down at her obscured form. With shaking hands, he moved the sheet covering her only a few centimeters, until just her hand was exposed. He released a long, shuddering breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, and looked regretfully around the room. The surroundings were cold, sterile, and lonely, and seemed completely inadequate for their current task. But everything had fallen apart so quickly, it was perhaps a miracle they were even able to bury her at all. 

Kurt thought about the last time he had buried a mother. When Margali passed, he and his siblings had been allowed time with her body before the funeral. They shared stories, cried, and prayed together. Margali had not been that old, but years of illness had aged her quickly- she had been dying for a long time. Kurt remembered how frail her once-strong hands looked, positioned stiffly with her simple rosary wrapped around them. Jimaine appeared startlingly like a blonde version of her mother in her youth, although her mature, somber funeral clothes seemed more like a costume than any leotard she had ever worn while performing. Her husband, a plain and gentle man who had a mild speech impediment and trained animals for the circus, was simply an unobtrusive presence. Stefan had been there, although as a wasted shadow of the man who once towered in Kurt’s memory. He appeared aged and disheveled- his poorly-fitted suit actually belonged to Jimaine’s husband- but apparently he was almost two years sober. Much to Kurt’s surprise, he had hugged him as soon as they saw each other, exclaiming “Look at you, Kurti! You’ve turned out the best of all of us!” as though that absolved him of his many sins.

But now there was to be no peace, no remembrance, no quiet reflection among friends. He looked down at Raven’s lifeless hand, noting that it didn’t show any signs of age at all. He realized he had no idea how old Raven was, how old she would have been when she had him. Not only had she not visibly aged for as long as he’d known her, but he was now nearly twenty-seven and she had looked more like she could be his sister than his biological mother. She had been well aware of this fact and had once explained to him that it was a unique feature of mutants like them- ‘Gamma-level’ or whatever category Hank and Charles had come up with- and that he should also expect to age better than those around him. “You got that to look forward to!” she had said with a wide grin as she elbowed his ribs- not that it had done her any good in the long run. Kurt wrapped his hands around her cold, stiff fingers and dropped to his knees to pray. 

He stayed like that, head bowed reverently, muttering quiet Latin for probably a few minutes at the most. He didn’t hear the footsteps behind him, didn’t notice the clinic light being flicked on. 

“What are you doing?” 

Kurt immediately stiffened at the tone of Hank’s voice. He raised his head but did not completely turn around. “I’m just saying a few- I’ll just be a few more minutes. I’m almost done.”

“You’re not supposed to be here.” 

“Please, if you could just give me a few more minutes-”

“Raven didn’t even believe in _all that_.”

Kurt turned his head to see Hank, arms crossed sternly, darkening the doorway. “Yes, I know, but she always accepted that I _did_ , so-”

“‘Accepted’ is a strong word. I’d say _‘tolerated_ ,’ at best.”

Kurt stared back at Hank, blinked once, and then turned his head back towards the table where Ravens body lay.

“I want you to leave.” Hank stated. 

“ _Please_ , Hank, I will. I promise.” Kurt pleaded, turning to look at Hank again. “I just want a few minutes alone with my mother.”

Kurt could actually hear Hank’s teeth click together as soon as the words left his mouth. “She didn’t want you!” Hank spat. He had uncrossed his arms, somehow managing to take up even more of the doorway. 

Kurt sighed and hung his head. “Yes, I know, but-”

“ **No** , you _don’t_ know.” Hank moved further into the room. “You have absolutely no idea. At all.”

Kurt scowled in confusion and frustration, but otherwise did not respond.

“Did you know that she called me? The night you were born?” Hank went on, unprompted. “I was the only person in the world that she told, about this secret baby that no one else could know about.”

Kurt just barely shook his head.

“And I told her I could come get her, or that I could take you from her, and raise you here, where you’d be safe. And she refused.” Hank moved closer, coming to a stop about a foot from where Kurt knelt. “Because she was so ashamed of you, she didn’t want me to see you. She couldn’t even stand to know where you _were_.”

Hank stared down at Kurt, who had yet to flinch. “So I asked her what she was going to do. She told me she would ‘Take care of it.’ You were the ‘it.’ And so I spent the next sixteen years thinking that she had probably _drowned_ you. **That** is how little she wanted you.”

Kurt looked down, closing his eyes and letting a couple of tears fall to the floor before taking a deep breath. He finally stood, his face inches from Hank’s, his tail twitching in agitation. “Hank, the simple fact that I _exist_ suggests that she didn’t always want you, either.”

Kurt stayed just long enough to see Hank’s eyes widen in shock, before teleporting directly back to his room. Once alone, he dropped again to his knees, and then collapsed even further, breaking down into unrestrained sobbing for the first time. He cried until he gasped for air, his tail clutched with both hands to his chest like when he was a child. When it finally started to taper off, he wiped his face with his sleeve and stopped to consider the weight of what had transpired between him and Hank. He hadn’t actually wanted to hurt Hank’s feelings, and he knew, deep down, that Hank didn’t actually want to hurt his. Grief can bring out the worst in people. He stood and brushed himself off, fixed his clothes and hair, and teleported back to the medical clinic. 

“Hank…?” he called out tentatively into the darkened, empty space. The few lights that had been on before, were now turned off. His voice echoed, and there was no response. He teleported to the kitchen next, and then to the staff lounge when that proved deserted as well. There was no light coming out from under Hank’s bedroom door, and the office in both his lab and workshop were also empty. As a last ditch effort, Kurt moved next to the hallway behind the medical clinic. There, under the door of Raven’s office, the barest amount of light could be seen.

Kurt approached the door and knocked on it lightly. “Hank? Are you in there?” There was no response. “Hank, I just want to apologize. I didn’t mean what I said.”

A small amount of movement could be heard from within the room, but there was still no response. “Hank, I’m sorry. I just want to talk.” He knocked softly on the door again. “I know that you’re in there. I can hear the chair creaking. Please. I’m sorry.”

There was more faint shuffling within the room, and Kurt could hear the door’s locking mechanism engage. Under any other circumstances, he probably would have laughed. Instead, he just sighed and pressed his forehead to the door, eyes shut. “Please, Hank. I’m sorry. I just need to tell you that. I was wrong. I’m sorry. Please…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter's title is from the 1992 song of the same name by Annie Lenox, who is just awesome. I felt like it was appropriate for this chapter because, well, *nobody* is having a good time right now. Except maybe Kitty. 
> 
> So, the whole scene with Peter, Ororo, and Scott talking at the breakfast table about Kurt refers to a scene towards the end of the movie where Kurt kinda goes off and kills a bunch of bad guys, who appear human but are actually aliens. As a stand-alone fight scene, it's pretty cool. He even gets a sword, which we like to see. But from a characterization standpoint, however, it doesn't make a lot of sense. It's obviously trying to callback to Kurt's "Whitehouse" scene from X2, but it's important to note that in that movie, during that scene, Kurt was mind-controlled. Kurt, when in control of his own actions, isn't normally a "do a bunch of flips and stab people" kinda guy. So, rather than just handwave the scene away or pretend it didn't happen, I decided to roll with it and make it something that Kurt did under extreme duress, but now feels profoundly guilty about, to an extent that it causes him to question his own morality, his faith, and his role as an X-Man. So here we are.
> 
> Also, in the movie, Raven dies early on when Jean attacks the rest of the team, at the same time that Peter is injured and goes into a coma. The flashback scene I wrote with Hank and Kurt takes place shortly after that, prior to Raven's funeral (which is seen in the movie). There are some things in the movie that suggest that Hank is just straight-up *not coping well* so that's why I wrote him as lashing out at Kurt. Grief really does bring out the absolute worst in people. 
> 
> In addition, I decided to give Kurt earrings as a treat to myself, lol. I love Kurt with earrings, and I think he should have them all the time, in all iterations. There are some examples from the comics of Kurt having at least one earring, and it's a sight for sore eyes.
> 
> Finally, the next chapter will be both 1) Long AF and 2) A complete clusterfuck/rollercoaster.


	14. If I Would, Could You?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hank throws a wrench into Kurt’s plans. Peter seeks out some guidance. Kitty attends a High School Dance with the X-Men as chaperons! In a flashback, Kurt and Raven catch up on things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is a lot going on in this long-ass chapter. Please be warned, there are some mentions of self-harm.

**Mansion Yard. Fall, 1989**

Raven found Kurt underneath one of the property’s many sprawling, mature trees. He was seated at the base of the trunk, with his knees drawn up and his face in his hands. He didn’t hear her approach, and startled slightly when she plopped down next to him with a chipper “What’s up?”

“Oh! Um…” he blurted before shrugging. “Not too much, I suppose.”

“Except for that you just got off the phone with your sister, and then ‘bamfed’ out here to sit under-'' She looked up, gesturing broadly around and above her. “one of our many _depression trees_.” She smirked when he had to suppress a laugh. “So what’s up?”

Kurt straightened up with a sigh, crossing his arms over his knees. “Nothing out of the ordinary, really. Jimaine just wanted to keep me updated.”

“Your mom doing okay still?”

“Eh... _Ja_. No. Pretty much the same. She moved in with Jimaine a few weeks ago, which has been good so far, although Jimaine says she still does too much- chasing the children around and all that.” Kurt explained, and then fidgeted with his hands. “The doctor said she could have six months to a year, but it could be less if she caught a flu or something like that. Or if she keeps smoking.”

Raven nodded seriously, clicking her tongue against her teeth. “Do you want to go back to Germany for a while?”

Kurt looked up and frowned briefly. “I may, soon. Not right now. I don’t want to crowd them.”

“Well, when you feel like you need to go, you just go.” Raven replied. “No excuses or permission needed. I can deal with this whole crew if any of them has any problem with it.”

Kurt lowered his head, muttering a quiet “Thank you.”

Raven gave an easy shrug in return and stretched her legs out in front of her. Kurt’s tail thumped idly against the ground a few times, until he took a deep breath, adding, “Jimaine also said that Stefan has been around a few times. And that he‘s been asking about me.”

“Oh?”

“ _Ja_. Jimaine said that he’s been doing well, and has been clean for some time now. She told me that apparently it is part of his recovery program to, you know, try and make amends to the people he hurt when he was still using…” Kurt continued to stare at his hands, still clutched over his knees. 

“I see…” Raven followed hesitantly.

“I don’t know how to explain to her that the worst things he did to me, he did while he was sober.”

“Pfft. Don’t explain _anything_ to her. Just say no.” Raven said with a swish of her hand. “You don’t need to reason to not want to sit through a bullshit fake apology from an abusive asshole.”

Kurt nodded along, picking nervously at his claw-like nails. “Perhaps, but Jimaine has said it would be good for Margali to know that the three of us were getting along.”

“Hmm.” Raven pursed her lips and tapped her chin, mulling over what Kurt had just said. Suddenly, she turned towards him, hands held out and eyes bright. “Okay, so here’s what you do-” she started excitedly, “You go over there, you make nice, you hug it out, you get the ‘Kodak moment’ for your mom or whatever…”

“Okay…” Kurt narrowed his eyes skeptically. ‘Hug it out’ is not normally advice Raven would give.

“And then once that’s done, you take your brother out back behind your sister’s trailer-”

“Um…”

“And you beat the _everlivin’ shit_ out of him!”

“Raven!”

“Just go right to town! Knock his fuckin’ teeth in!”

“Raven! No! I can’t do that!”

Raven pulled back incredulously. “Why do you think I taught you to kick ass? Some asses need to be kicked, Kurt.”

Kurt stared back in disapproval, arms crossed sternly. 

“I’m serious! Just because someone says ‘I’m sorry’ doesn’t mean they don’t need to be held responsible for their actions.” Raven lectured. Kurt sighed and shook his head. Raven continued, pointing at him while she spoke, “See, you gotta teach people how to treat you, Kurt. Letting him off the hook with a few cheap words teaches him that you’re a goddamn doormat. Blackening both his eyes teaches him that fucking with you was a _mistake_.”

Kurt shot her a look, huffing a small laugh and shaking his head some more. “Perhaps you are right. But, according to Jimaine, he is starting to lose his hair. Maybe once I see him, I’ll just decide that he’s already been punished enough?”

“Ha!” Raven laughed despite herself. “Yeah, maybe.” She looked at Kurt for a moment, before adding, “You won’t have to worry about that, by the way. You get your hair from your dad’s side, and he had _amazing_ hair.” 

Kurt gave an amused scoff. “Oh?”

“Oh, yeah.” Raven confirmed seriously. “Thick, healthy, not a single grey…”

Kurt raked his hands through his hair without thinking. “That’s good to know.”

“In fact,” Raven continued, arms crossed smugly, “you might have already noticed this, but the next few decades are going to go really well for you, looks-wise. See, mutants like you and me and Hank and your dad don’t age like everyone else.” She looked more closely at him, gesturing towards his face. “So when all your friends start to get all dried out and wrinkly, you’re still gonna have a fresh, flawless, youthful complexion.”

He glanced at her, and started laughing when he couldn’t determine whether she was being serious. 

“So, you got that to look forward to!” she grinned, nudging his ribs. He laughed quietly some more, looking down bashfully. 

He didn’t notice how she continued to stare at him analytically, her smile having fallen. She clicked her tongue against her teeth before she spoke again. “I mean, other than all those...squiggles or whatever.”

Kurt just bit his lip and continued to look at the ground. 

“So, what’s that about, anyway?”

Kurt took a long, shuddering breath. He had been doing an excellent job of avoiding this conversation for around six years. “Well, it’s...Really, it’s a religious thing, so-”

“And don’t start with that ‘It’s a religious thing’ crap.” Raven interjected, pointing at him sternly. “There are _millions_ of Catholics in the United States. So I know it’s not, like, a normal practice or anything like that.”

“Does it surprise you that not everything I did would generally be considered normal?”

“Don’t answer my question with a question. It makes you sound like a _tool_.” 

“I don’t really know what you want me to tell you, Raven. I don’t expect you to understand it. It’s just how I was taught to deal with my own, you know, sinful behavior.”

“Taught by _who_ , though?” Raven continued to press, more intense by the second. “ _Who_ taught you that -despite everyone else in your church just having to do the normal prayer and confession deal- you had to grab a knife and-”

“It wasn’t a knife.” Kurt corrected flatly. He traced the line of the scar on the back of his hand with his other thumbnail. “A cut from a knife or scalpel wouldn’t heal properly. What I actually used was a thin, sharpened metal strip that had been bent into a narrow ‘U’ shape, so it would remove a uniform strip of skin, so-”

“Okay, you gotta stop, or I’m gonna throw up.” Raven begged, looking away and holding her hands up. 

“Sorry.” Kurt muttered. “You asked.”

“Right.” Raven hesitated, rubbing her palms on her thighs. “Why don’t you just tell me how it all started?”

“Hmm. I got caught doing something I shouldn’t have.” 

“Okay...details?”

Kurt took a deep breath, finally deciding to stop evading and just give in. “We were on tour, and were stopped in this little town not far from the Austrian border. We were there every year, and we were quite friendly with the locals. All the children would play together. It was a beautiful, hot summer day, and we wanted to go swimming in the river.”

His tail writhed anxiously through dead leaves. Raven turned towards him as he spoke, resting her shoulder against the trunk of the tree. “When we got there, I noticed one of my friends was missing. A local girl. So I went looking for her. I found her in the shade, and asked her why she wasn’t swimming with the rest of us. She told me that she had gotten a very bad sunburn, and so she needed to stay covered up and out of the sun. I said ‘Why not just wear my shirt?’ It was one of Stefan’s- long-sleeved and baggy and button-up. That way she could at least come play with us, even if she didn’t swim. I took it off and gave it to her. I had never had a sunburn before, and so I asked her if it hurt. She said it did hurt, very badly in fact, and pulled her top down her shoulder to show me…”

Raven straightened and drew a breath, having figured out already where the story was headed.

“It was red and blistered and looked very painful. I remembered how, when I had accidentally scalded myself, Mama- er, Margali, would blow on it, and it felt better. So I moved closer to her, and blew on her shoulder.” His tail coiled itself around his ankle as he spoke. “She didn’t mind- she laughed. But her father saw us, and he did mind. Very much.”

He pressed his face into his hands, and then raked his fingers back through his hair. “I don’t really remember exactly how the rest happened. There was a lot of yelling and screaming. The girl was crying. There were four or five men. I found myself in a cellar. I suppose they probably wanted to kill me. They could have done it easily, except one of them noticed the small crucifix I was wearing. He left and returned with another man, who had a book with him. This new man asked me many questions- Did I believe in God? Did I want to be forgiven? Did I believe my soul could be salvaged? Of course I said yes to everything. I cried. I begged. “Good,” he said. And then, ‘Hold still.’”

Raven stared, frozen, as he traced his nails in a small pattern over his shirt, near the center of his chest. “It took two of them to hold me down while the man with the book did the cutting. Once it was done, it was like a switch was flipped. These people who wanted to kill me just...left, without another word. The man who had cut me, he bandaged me up and asked me how I felt. I said I was dizzy, so he actually took me upstairs, sat me at the table, and got me some cookies and milk. He seemed concerned about me. He seemed kind.”

Kurt couldn’t look at Raven, and could not see her increasingly-sickened expression. “He showed me the book he had, and explained the symbols in it, and what they meant. All people were made in God’s image, he said, but people like me, less so. Because of that, I need to try harder, sacrifice more, in order to get into Heaven, or even to keep from hurting those around me. The devil, he said, would work harder to tempt me, because he clearly preferred me. What was good enough for normal people- the prayer and confessions- was not going to be enough for me. The events of that day were just the beginning, he explained, and we were all fortunate that he was able to find me when he did. It took me a few more years to completely understand the point he was making. This first symbol, the one that he gave me, represents lust. I was maybe eight years old. I didn’t even know what sex _was_.”

“Eight.” Raven echoed, her face stricken.

Kurt offered a useless shrug. “From that day forward, of course, it had to be my responsibility. He gave me the tool he used, and explained how to cut and where. From then on, whenever we were in town, I would visit him and we would talk about what I had been up to, how I was doing. I would go to church and confession like everyone else, and be told ‘Do this many Hail Mary’s.’ And then I would visit this man and tell him the _same_ sins and transgressions, and be told ‘This symbol and that one, here, here, and here.’” He made a vague sweeping gesture over his entire body. “Eventually, he said I had learned enough to continue on my own. I was actually able to hide it from Margali for about three months. When she found out, she was _livid_ , but there really wasn’t much she could do about it.” 

“You don’t...still believe that, do you?” Raven asked hesitantly. 

Kurt sighed. “ _Nein_ , not really.” He scratched the back of his neck. “It just...It made a lot of sense, at a time of my life when not a lot of things about me made sense.”

Raven nodded slowly, and began wringing her hands. “And this guy...did he have a name?”

Kurt tipped his head back, biting his lip as he searched his memory. “Hmm…”

“And what was the name of the town?” Raven quickly continued. “Did he have a street address? Do you know what kinda job he worked? Like, was he part of the clergy, or was this something he just did for fun?”

Kurt shot her a skeptical glance. “And what would you do with this information if I gave it to you?”

“Oh, you know…” She looked down at her hands, picking at her cuticles. “Might drop by next time I’m in Germany, see if he’s still kickin’ around…” She paused before adding lowly, “Might skin him alive. Like I said, we’ll see how it goes.” 

Kurt stiffened. “I don’t want you to do that, Raven.” he stated, his expression stony.

“Why the hell not? He deserves worse.”

“He just-” Kurt looked upward, frowning, as he struggled to get his thoughts in order. “I know you won’t believe it, but he never really seemed like he _wanted_ to hurt me.”

“Bullshit.” Raven spat. “There’s no way a guy who fucking _carves up mutant babies_ doesn’t get some kinda sick fucking thrill out of it.”

“Raven, please.”

“And then he just got you to do it yourself? He probably thought that was just fucking swell. Like, it wasn’t enough to try and mutilate you on the outside, he had to try to wreck you from the inside, too.”

Kurt pressed his head back against the tree trunk, clenching his eyes shut. “Please stop.” he whispered.

“He didn’t give a fuck about your _soul_ , Kurt. His only objective was to make you think that there was something wrong with you. And there was _never_ anything wrong with you!”

Kurt let out a shuddering exhale, having put his face in his hands. Raven had shifted so that she now knelt, facing him. She took a deep breath to calm herself and reached out to tug at his sleeve, until he lowered his hands and cast her a cautious, if bloodshot, look. Finally, she continued, “Look, I know that maybe I’m the last person you want to hear this from. And I know that I just wasn’t in a place where I could see it at the time. But _I made you perfect_. And _fuck_ anyone-”

Kurt huffed and shook his head slightly. “Raven, I-”

“No. Listen to me- **FUCK**. **ANYONE**. who tries to tell you otherwise.”

When she finally saw him form a slight half-smile and nod, she visibly relaxed. “Okay.” he agreed softly.

“Okay?”

“Okay.”

“Alright. Good.” She stood, delivering a small slap to his upper arm as she did so. “Let’s go back inside.”

**Hank’s Office. Currently.**

Kurt came to a halt just outside the closed door of Hank’s office. He had teleported there immediately after handing the final grades for his classes into the Registrar’s office, only to be informed that Hank had left an urgent message for him, asking to speak to him as soon as possible.

Normally something like that would fill Kurt with worry, but he was having a surprisingly good week, and it would take more than an impromptu Hank-lecture to lessen his mood. He was going to spend his afternoon decorating for the evening’s Winter Semi-Formal dance, which he and the rest of the X-Men were also to be chaperoning. His drama class’ play had gone off without a hitch the previous evening, and the school was in the process of preparing for the end of the semester and the holiday break. In a matter of days, all classes would be over, and the majority of the student body would be going home, leaving him with an opportunity to spend some quality time with his friends before he and Kitty left for England in early January. Also, the ear piercings that Kitty was kind enough to re-pierce for him had finally stopped hurting. 

He glanced out the hallway window, noting a few stray snowflakes in the air. Apparently, it doesn't often snow in England. He made a mental note to try and get people together for some sledding or ice skating before he left. Then, he knocked on Hank’s door.

“Come in!” was heard from within the room. A distinct lack of gruffness in Hank’s voice indicated he was in his ‘normal-looking man’ form.

Kurt pushed the door open and leaned inside. “You wanted to see me?”

Hank gestured towards the chair in front of his desk. Kurt quickly sat down as indicated. Hank looked even more harried than usual, and maybe a little flushed. However, Kurt had always thought that- despite Hank’s ‘human’ form being an average-sized man, and still very strong besides- he looked a little frail when he wasn’t blue. 

Hank adjusted his glasses and fidgeted with some papers on his desk before looking Kurt in the eye. “Kurt, I’ve made a huge mistake.”

Kurt tilted his head. “Oh?”

“Yes.” Hank gave a short nod, and continued shuffling through papers. “This morning, I was getting some invoices and receipts together to submit to Mr. Braddock, because, as per you and Kitty’s contractual agreements, he had agreed to cover travel and moving expenses…”

“Oh, did he? That was nice of him.” Kurt chimed in.

“It’s...essentially standard with these types of contracts. Anyway, I wanted to send a copy of the receipt for the plane tickets for you and Kitty, that I booked last week...and I noticed a, uh... _discrepancy_....” 

Hank cringed as he spread papers in front of himself, and Kurt got out of the chair and walked around to Hank’s side of the desk, squinting at the arrangement. 

“I had spoken to a travel agent about booking a flight for the two of you, for January twelfth, because that is a few days before Mr. Braddock wanted to start work on their upcoming project. She was explaining to me that not all airlines are willing to accommodate mutant passengers, and as such my options were limited, etcetera, etcetera…” Hank rambled frenetically, flitting his hands over the plane tickets. “I was put on hold multiple times, and transferred to several different people, but eventually it seemed that everything was in order. That is, until I went to fax the receipt for the tickets to Mr. Braddock, and looked more closely at them. You’ll see here that the tickets aren’t for January twelfth. They’re for tomorrow morning.”

“Hmm…” Kurt leaned in closer, grasping the back of Hank’s chair. 

“Now, of course, as soon as I noticed this, I called the agent back to have her issue a pair of tickets for the correct date. I was then informed that, due to the holiday travel rush, there were no more tickets available within the appropriate time frame. In fact, the soonest the agent said you two could get to England would be late January, which several weeks _after_ Mr. Braddock needs the project to start.”

Kurt tilted his head and poked the edge of the ticket with the tip of his tail.

“So, obviously, I looked for other options. I considered your own abilities, as well as those of our other resident teleporters. But apparently England has a law that requires all mutant workers to enter the country by ‘conventional means’- That is to say, no teleporting. I considered just using the Blackbird, but the replacement parts for the fuel tank that I ordered weeks ago are on back-order and won’t be here in time-” Hank paused his frantic explanation to rake both hands back through his hair and catch his breath. 

Kurt reached out to place a calming hand on Hank’s shoulder. “Hank, it’s okay. If you need me to go tomorrow, I can go tomorrow. It’s not a problem.”

Hank let out a long exhale, sinking further into his chair. He stared up at Kurt over the top of his glasses. “Kurt, I’m so sorry. I have no idea how this happened.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Kurt reiterated, giving Hank’s shoulder a pat.

“But you haven’t packed, and we all have to chaperone the school dance tonight, and-”

“Don't worry about me.” Kurt leaned against the side of Hank’s desk and crossed his arms, smiling. “I can be completely packed in half an hour. I never threw out the boxes I used when I moved into my room, I just slid them under my dresser.”

“Oh.” Hank looked down, knitting his brows together. “That’s...that’s kind of sad, to be honest.”

Kurt shrugged. “It’s how I was raised, I guess.” Then, he placed a finger to his chin, brow furrowed, as a thought came to him. “But what about Kitty, though? I can’t imagine she would be okay with missing out on the holiday break with her family.”

“Huh. Well, about that…” Hank returned a half smile and crossed his arms. “Apparently her parents are now in the process of fighting over who gets the house, so she was _all too happy_ to have an excuse to be in another continent.”

“ _Lieber Gott._ ” Kurt shook his head. “The poor thing.”

“So if this-” Hank panned his hands over the collection of papers spread out in front of him and looked hesitantly at Kurt. “is all okay with you, I guess I’d better let you get packing.”

“ _Ja_ , and decorating!” Kurt agreed.

“Ugh, don’t remind me…” Hank frowned. High school dances were not his favourite thing in the world. “Scott or I will be ready to take you and Kitty to the airport tomorrow morning. I’ll see you later tonight.”

******

Peter walked alongside Scott, half-listening to his overly-detail explanation of where the streamers were supposed to go. Around them, the school’s various staff and members of assorted student clubs bustled around, decorating and setting up for that evening’s dance. 

“So, if you take _this_ colour and _this_ colour, and put them together, and then twist it, it makes this cool multi-colour effect.” Scott explained, holding up two rolls of decorative streamers in ugly-ass colours. "So, if you do that, and then pin some up _there_ and _there-_ ” 

“Yeah, cool, dude. I got it.” Peter interrupted, taking the two rolls. “You know these are, like, neon pink and green, right?”

“Really? Shit.” Scott frowned, and then shrugged. “Oh, well. The art club picked out the décor. It’s on them.” He pointed to some equipment in the corner of the gymnasium. “There’s a ladder over there, that you can use- Wait. Are you okay going up a ladder?” Scott looked to Peter, concerned. 

“Uh, yeah. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“It’s just, like, I don’t want you getting dizzy or anything like that while you’re up there. It might be better if I do this part.”

“Holy fuck, Summers. It’s a fucking ladder.” Peter blurted, dropping his arms to his sides. “It’s a goddamn five-foot ladder. Not the fucking Matterhorn. I’m _fine_. I can do this.”

“Okay, man. Sure. If you say so.” Scott held his hands up. “I’m just gonna go help set up the stage for the DJ. Just shout if you need me.”

“Can do.”

Faster than anyone else on the planet, but still far slower than he’d like, Peter dragged the ladder over and started the process of twisting and pinning the streamers. He’d made it halfway around the gym when he heard a firm “Peter!” being called out behind him. He turned to see Kurt standing at the base of the ladder, looking up at him with his hands in his pockets and his tail swaying pleasantly. Peter noticed that there was something different about him- new haircut? Different shirt? Regardless, he looked _good_ , better than he had in weeks.

“Uh, hey.” Peter stammered. It had been so long since Kurt had actually spoken to him, he just didn’t want to fuck it up.

“You got your cast off.” Kurt observed, gesturing towards Peter’s right arm with the tip of his tail.

“Yep.” Peter agreed lamely. Kurt returned a polite smile. “I, um...put up these streamers!” he blurted next, with far too much enthusiasm. 

“Good for you.” Kurt nodded. He took one hand out of his pocket to scratch his head. “Is it okay for you to be on a ladder?”

Peter’s mouth dropped open and he scowled. “Why does everyone keep asking me that?”

“Peter!” This time, it was Scott trying to get his attention, again.

“What?!” Peter shouted back, trying to restrain his annoyance. 

“The DJ is here. Can you help him unpack and set up his equipment?” Scott yelled from the other side of the gym, pointing towards the back exit.

“Yeah, sure. Just a sec-” Peter replied, and turned back to where Kurt had been standing, only to find he had left. A quick scan of the room revealed that Kurt was now close to Ororo, and chatting with several of his drama students. Fuck.

“Peter! Hurry up!” Scott’s voice was like nails on the chalkboard of Peter’s brain.

“I’m coming!” Peter shouted again, muttering “Jesus fucking Christ.” under his breath as he got down off the ladder. As he walked at normal human speed towards where Scott was, he looked back at where Kurt and Ororo stood. One of them must have said something funny, because now they and the group of students around them were all smiling and laughing. He looked back towards Scott, who leaned against the door frame at the back of the gym, his arms crossed impatiently. 

“Fuck them.’ Peter thought bitterly to himself. ‘Why the fuck would Kurt tell _them_ he was leaving, and not me?’ He could feel his hands curl into fists as he could still hear laughter from across the gym. The worst part is that Kurt told Scott and Ororo he was leaving the fucking country, and they just said ‘Yeah, sure. Sounds good. Whatever.’ and didn’t even _try_ to make him stay. All over some shit that had happened when Peter was fucking unconscious. 

Peter was a few feet away from Scott when the realization struck him like a brick: Kurt wasn’t leaving the X-Men, Kurt was leaving _him_. It just made too much sense. Kurt had been completely fine until Peter had fucked everything up. He stopped in his tracks as wave after wave of guilt washed over him. Had he hurt Kurt so bad that he could no longer stand to be on the same _continent_ as him? Had Kurt lied to their friends about his reasons for taking this new job, knowing that they would just understand and not question it? Maybe that was why Kurt suddenly felt like he could actually talk to Peter today, after weeks of trying to avoid him- the relief of knowing he only had to tolerate Peter for another month or so took the edge off. 

Peter stood, frowning and starting to feel a little nauseated, as the pieces all fell into place. He hadn’t understood what the stakes were, he’d gone about everything so wrong. He’d forced Kurt away, and shattered what little normalcy his friends had managed to scrape together in his absence. 

“Peter!” Scott called out again, uncrossing his arms and moving closer to where Peter still stood. “You okay, man? Do you need to sit down?”

“Yes! Christ! I’m fine!” Peter snapped, and started walking quickly to hide his embarrassment. “Where’s this shit we gotta move?”

“You sure? You’re kinda sweaty.” Scott pressed, walking close to him. “You want some orange juice or something?”

“Fuckin’ _seriously_ , dude?”

“Okay, okay. Fine.”

******

“Kurt! Kurt!” Kitty, dressed in her knee-length pink dress with ruffles on the shoulder straps, called out, waving frantically. “Come take a picture of Piotr and me!” 

Kurt, who had been idly chatting with Ororo as they watched teenagers dance along to “Groove Is In The Heart,” cast Ororo an amused, if slightly exasperated glance before walking towards Kitty. She and her date, Piotr, were standing in front of a wooden lattice arch that had been decorated with balloons and streamers.

Kurt stopped a few feet from them and shoved his hands in his pockets, looking them over. “What a lovely couple!” he concluded, tail swaying happily. 

“Oh, stop!” Kitty laughed, as Piotr smiled bashfully. The large, broad-shouldered Russian farm boy had cleaned up very well, with grey slacks and a burgundy button-up shirt. 

Kitty handed Kurt her disposable camera, and he stepped back and gestured at the young couple until they had arranged themselves in a satisfactory way. “Okay, a little more to the left. Get a bit closer together! There we are-” Kurt aimed the camera. “Smile!” Kitty and Piotr posed and smiled, and Kurt snapped the picture. 

“All packed up and ready for tomorrow?” Kitty asked, as she stepped away from Piotr to retrieve her camera from Kurt. 

“Yes! And yourself?”

“Yes!” Kitty replied giddily. “It basically took me all day, but I did it! I’m so excited!” 

“I am _not_ so excited for the plane ride.” Kurt cringed. “Us teleporters don’t travel well.”

“Well, I packed us some Mad Libs. That should keep us busy!” Kitty said with a nod. Kurt could only laugh. “Piotr! Can you take a picture of me and Kurt?” she asked her date suddenly. 

“Of course.” Piotr replied, and took the camera. Kitty stood beside Kurt and threw an arm over his shoulder, while Kurt put his hands in his pockets again and tilted his head towards her. 

Piotr aimed the camera. “What is it-? Oh, yes. Say cheese!” 

“Cheese!” Kitty and Kurt replied in unison. 

Kitty ran towards Piotr to retrieve her camera again. Kurt jerked his head towards where Ororo still stood. “I should get back to it, then. You two have fun!”

“Thank you, Mr. Wagner.” Piotr replied with a polite nod. 

“Is Ororo your date?” Kitty asked with a smirk. 

Kurt laughed and shook his head. “Teachers don’t bring dates to the dance, _Kätzchen.”_

“Well, you should tell her she looks nice anyways.”

“I was planning on it.” Kurt smiled. “Now, go have fun and stop wasting your time hanging around with old people!” He waved Kitty and Piotr away, and they ran back towards the dance floor.

Towards the gym entrance, Peter and Scott walked side by side, with Scott filling Peter in on what Hank said their responsibilities for the evening were.

“So, first thing, Hank says, is to give this list to the DJ. He says it’s a list of inappropriate songs he doesn’t want played.” Scott started, holding up a folded piece of lined paper. 

“‘Kay. So we’re gonna, like, _disregard_ that.” Peter nodded along. 

“Obviously.” Scott confirmed, shoving the paper deep into his pants pocket. “The next thing is to just, you know, try to curtail any mosh pits or fights or, like, _dry humping_...stuff like that.” 

“Huh.” Peter scanned the dance floor, already full of hormones and uncoordinated gyrating. “Does the garden hose stretch this far?”

“No. I checked.” Scott frowned. “Our other job is just to watch for anyone who snuck in booze or drugs.”

“Cool. Can do.” Peter nodded some more, and shoved his hands in his pockets. He looked again into the crowd of over a hundred teenagers, obscured by darkness and flashing coloured lights. “Hank have any tips on what to look out for?”

Scott looked down at his feet and smiled. “Actually, that kinda used to be Jean’s job. And she was really good at it.”

Peter froze momentarily, sucking in a breath. “Yeah, no doubt. That’d be right up her alley.”

Scott folded his arms and stared into the dance floor, still smiling at the memory. “Oh, for sure. But it’s funny- I asked her once if it was hard for her to, you know, read almost everyone’s mind to check and see if they were sneaking stuff in, and she just laughed.” He turned to Peter, his expression unreadable behind his visor. “She said she didn’t have to use her telepathy at all. She said there was nothing in the world so obvious as someone who had something to hide.” 

Peter rocked back on his heels, nodding slowly. “But, like, not to _us_ , though, right?” he asked. “Because we’re idiots.”

Scott laughed. “Oh, for sure. We’re gonna suck at this.”

Peter flung his arm out, indicating the crowd. “All these kids are getting drunk.”

Moments later, Peter was wandering around the perimeter of the gym, trying to look busy moreso than actually chaperoning. A whiff of a familiar smell caught his attention and he shook his head, and quickly moved to lean against the wall just outside of the girl’s washroom. Not a minute later, the door opened and a girl with a spikey, gelled bleach-blonde hairstyle and elbow-length fishnet gloves walked out. 

“Hand it over, Tabitha.” Peter said flatly.

She startled and spun around, smoothing out her red minidress. “Hand _what_ over?”

“Oh, _come on_ , Tabs!” Peter groaned, pushing off from the wall and moving closer to her. “I saw Pink Floyd in concert. I _know_ what pot smells like. Hand it over!”

Tabitha gave the world’s most exaggerated eye roll and finally acquiesced, reaching into her bra to retrieve a baggie with two joints in it. 

Peter snatched it and shoved it into his pocket. “Hank’s office. Now.” 

Tabitha gave another, even more dramatic eye roll and a disgusted scoff before stomping off to Hank’s office.

Once she was out of earshot, Peter chuckled to himself. Tabitha Smith was actually one of his favorite students, despite (or, more likely, _because_ ) of antics like that. 

Peter leaned back against the wall again, looking around him. He saw Scott walk towards the punch table, likely to try and intervene in a fight between two girls that had not yet turned physical. Ororo was not far off, helping a boy fix his tie. When Peter saw Kurt and Kitty posing for a quick photo, he scowled. He scowled at them laughing together and smiling, he continued to scowl when Kurt quickly skipped back to Ororo, with more laughing and smiling, and she touched his arm. 

Peter’s faint anger soon melted into dull sadness and regret. He couldn’t stand to think of how, before he had ruined everything, Kurt had treated him like that, too. It was one of his best features- how open and caring and friendly he was. To everyone. Even to people who treated him badly at first. Even people who didn’t care if he stayed or left. 

Peter continued to stare longingly across the gym, where Kurt and Ororo stood together, too close. ‘Even though,” Peter thought, as the noise and spectacle of the dance fades away, ‘they don’t love him like I do.’

The thought had entered Peter’s brain like a rock being thrown into a puddle, and his stomach twisted as he forced himself to look at the floor. A shrill cheer was heard from the dance floor as the opening beats from “Vogue” by Madonna began to play, and students bumped into him as they danced joyously. The sensations were a million miles away, and he chewed his lip, his mind racing. 

“ **Fuck**.” he rasped. “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.”

Faster than anyone could see, he fled the gym, moving up the darkened hallways. The droning bass of the dance was still audible as he ran through increasingly narrow, isolated corridors until he got to where he felt he needed to be. He stood outside an unmarked office door, panting, and gripped the metal knob. He twisted it frantically, feeling annoyance flare up in him when the door proved to be locked. He leaned against it, and started turning the knob back and forth at lightning speed, closing his eyes as he listened for a ‘click’ He knew that with this method and a little patience, the locking mechanism would likely disengage. Patience was in short supply, but it took less than a minute for the knob to finally turn fully around. The door swung open and he entered the room. He flung himself into the well-worn chair at Raven’s old desk, flicking on the dusty lamp and reaching for the rolodex. He thumbed through it anxiously until he found the number he was looking for and keyed it into the black telephone. As it started to ring, he cradled the receiver between his head and shoulder and bit his lip in anticipation, no longer so sure that this was a good idea.

Finally, a hesitant “ _Hallo_?” was heard on the other end of the line. 

“Uh, hey Dad,” Peter started, hating the crack he heard in his own voice. “Um...I fucked up.” 

******

“Did I miss anything interesting?” Kurt asked as he re-took his place by Ororo’s side.

She laughed and patted his arm, before gesturing into the crowd of teenagers. “Not at all. That is, other than whatever is going on here.”

Kurt crossed his arms and tisked as he observed the wide range of questionable dance moves. “ _Ja_ , that is…that is really something, isn’t it?”

They continued to watch the scene for some time, Kurt with a curious eyebrow raised, while Ororo shook her head slowly.

“Someone ought to do something.” she eventually concluded.

Kurt chuckled. “Uh-oh.” he muttered. 

“What?” She looked at him, smiling.

“You know what this means?”

“What?” she repeated, now giggling.

“We’re old now.” he concluded with a serious nod. “We’re standing around, criticizing how young people dance. That means we’re old.”

Ororo threw her head back laughing. “Well, it was bound to happen eventually.” 

They watched with interest as the song transitioned into “Boot Scootin’ Boogie,” which caused a large portion of the crowd to rejoice while a much larger portion of the crowd groaned and migrated towards the refreshment tables. 

“Why is it that people here _really love_ when the dance moves are stated directly in the song lyrics?” Ororo asked as she analytically observed the semi-coordinated routine before her.

Kurt smirked as his tail flicked with amusement. “I wouldn’t know. I’m from out of town.”

“Hmm. True.” Ororo agreed seriously, and then smiled impishly. “And, according to Scott, quite a talented breakdancer.”

“Oh.” Kurt stiffened, embarrassed. “He told you about that, did he?”

“He sure did.” 

He clicked his tongue against his teeth. “I will have to thank him for that later.” he stated flatly.

“So, what _I_ want to know,” Ororo pressed, “is why you would keep this prodigious talent to yourself?”

“Well, there's really not all that much too it…” Kurt argued, shifting uncomfortably on his feet. “You just need to keep to the beat of the song. Maybe throw in a backflip or spin around on your head a little bit. It’s simple, really.”

“Oh, well, if it’s that simple, why doesn’t everyone do it?” she laughed. 

“Really, as types of dances go, it’s quite showy, but it’s not my favorite.” he explained. “A basic waltz is far more enjoyable.”

“If I had known, I might have gotten lessons.” Ororo replied, still smiling but no longer laughing.

“That wouldn’t be necessary.” Kurt stated definitively, straightening his posture and turning to face her. “Just stand like this, and give me your hand…” He carefully arranged them both, hands clasped with elbows bent, him holding her waist while she held his shoulder. “Now, just follow my lead.”

He lead her through a brief, simple mini-waltz, ignoring the blaring music and moving along with the rhythm in his head. She met each step easily, as years of working and training together had allowed them to be attuned to one another. The dramatic conclusion, not one but two graceful spins, left her leaning with her back against his chest, looking up at his grinning face. The faint touch of her fingertips against his jawline was not part of the routine.

“You see, _Liebling_? I knew you would be a natural.” 

She just barely stepped away from him, and her fingertips still grazed his. “If you knew I was ‘a natural’ all these years, how come you never took me out dancing?”

“Oh! I-” He looked bashfully down at his feet. “It wasn’t something I thought you would be interested in.”

“With such a talented partner, how could I not be?”

He looked up to find her still looking back, her hand still in his. The humor was gone from her face, but her smile was soft and warm. He ran his thumb over her knuckles. “You look very beautiful tonight, Ororo.” he said, in lieu of an actual reply. 

She half-smiled, head tilting slightly. “Kitty told you to tell me that.”

“She did, but I was going to anyway.”

She laughed and looked away briefly, swinging their hands together between them playfully before looking back to him expectantly. He sucked a breath and swallowed, shuffling his feet.

“Ororo, I-” He met her eyes and held her hand more firmly. “There was a mixup with _Kätzchen’s_ and my plane tickets. We’re not leaving in January. We’re leaving tomorrow morning.”

Her mouth dropped open and her eyes went wide. “But that’s- that’s too soon!”

He shrugged, his tail tracing a circle over the varnished wooden floor. “There’s nothing that can be done about it, I’m afraid. Hank already checked.”

She pursed her lips, shaking her head slightly. “We were going to throw you a going away party.” she said sadly.

“Thank you, but it’s probably just as well. I don’t really want one.” 

“So that’s it, then. You’re leaving, you’re taking our Kitten with you…” She looked away, her voice barely a whisper. “Is there anything else you’re planning on taking from me, while you’re at it?”

“Well, I _was_ going to take the coffee maker, but I didn’t have the heart to tell you.” he replied, forcing her to laugh despite herself. “And technically, _Kätzchen_ is taking _me_ , so…”

“I don’t know if I can do this without you.” Ororo admitted, reaching out to now grip his hand with both of hers. 

“That’s nonsense, _Liebling._ Of course you can.” Kurt assured, reaching up to rub her shoulder softly. “It’ll be with far less dramatic flair, obviously, but I’m sure you'll manage.”

“Stop it!” she laughed again, swatting him on the chest before sliding her arm around his waist and resting her head on his shoulder. He kept his hand on her back, tracing a lazy circle over it. They stood in silence as time crept by, not noticing how the music changed dramatically. “Walk” by Pantera began to blare in the background, but it might as well have been elevator music for the amount of attention they paid to it. 

It took the sound of a metal bowl of potato chips clanging to the floor to regain Kurt’s attention, and he perked up. “Perhaps we should-”

Instantly, her lips pressed to his softly, and her fingertips traced along his jawline. He was stilled by the shock of it- it’s everything that ten years of daydreams promised, but somehow so different. She edged closer to him, pressing their bodies together, which brought him back to reality enough to actually start kissing her back. He wrapped both arms around her, his tail winding around her calf, and she kept her hand on his face as they kissed slowly, deliberately, and with an edge of desperation. 

“Hey, Kurt! You ever break up a mosh pit? Because there’s a hell of one going on-” Scott yelled towards them as he approached, looking down at his wrists as he unbuttoned and rolled up his shirt sleeves.

Hearing his name, Kurt opened his eyes, regrettably breaking the kiss when he saw Scott standing, frozen, staring at him and Ororo. 

“Oh. Shit. Sorry guys, I-” Scott stammered, mortified.

Ororo huffed in annoyance and let her head fall into Kurt’s shoulder, patting his chest. “You go ahead.” she said, as he sighed and reluctantly let go of her. 

“It’s alright.” Kurt assured Scott as he walked quickly to where Scott still stood. “What are we doing?”

“Oh! Um…” Scott raked his hand through his hair as he struggled to remember the reason he had walked over in the first place. “Peter fucked off somewhere, and there’s a pretty big mosh pit starting over there.” He pointed to a darkened corner of the gym. “So I need your help to break it up before someone gets hurt.”

“Sounds easy enough.” Kurt replied with a nod, and started rolling up his sleeves as Scott had done. 

They made their way through the dense crowd of teenagers as heavy metal continued to pound from the DJ’s stereos. Once they reached the mosh pit, it didn’t take much to redirect most of the participants. 

“That’s enough. Move along-” Kurt said loudly as he struggled to get various student’s attention. Most of them soon noticed Scott and Kurt’s presence, and quickly dispersed for fear of getting in trouble.

“BREAK IT UP, GUYS!” Scott shouted suddenly, and Kurt turned to see him attempting to separate two boys who had abandoned the mosh pit in favor of simply throwing punches at each other. 

“Victor! Julian!” Kurt immediately joined in, recognizing the students as two of his best. “Stop it right now!”

Kurt moved to grab Julian Keller from behind, as Scott had already gotten a hold of Victor Borkowski’s shirt. But as Kurt lunged towards Julian, Julian pulled his arm back to throw another punch, with his elbow hitting Kurt squarely below his right eye. Kurt stumbled back, dazed, as Scott and Victor stopped and gasped. 

Julian spun around, and his mouth dropped open in horror when he saw Kurt now hunched over, groaning and clutching his face. “Holy shit! Oh my God, I’m sorry Mr. Wagner!” he blurted. “I didn’t mean to hit you, I swear! Oh, fuck!”

Kurt stood back up, wincing and checking to see if he was bleeding. “I don’t care about who you hit _accidentally_ , Julian. I care about who you both hit _on purpose_.”

“We were just screwing around!” Victor tried to explain, to which Julian nodded frantically while Scott shook his head. 

“Didn’t look like it, guys.” Scott replied gruffly. “Hank’s office. Move.”

Julian and Victor sheepishly started walking towards Hank’s office, with Scott and Kurt close behind them. As they moved from the darkened dance floor to the brightly lit hallways, Kurt patted the area around his eye to check for swelling.

Scott glanced over at his face and immediately cringed. “Uh, might wanna take a peek in a mirror…”

“Oh?” Kurt quickly examined his reflection in the glass of a trophy display case. “Oh!” The dark bruise forming around his eye was barely visible under his unique skin tone, but the bright red staining on the inner half of his sclera was jarring. “That’s gross!” he exclaimed, with a hint of amusement in his voice. 

“Does it hurt? We can have Hank look at it.” Scott assured, looking at Kurt’s reflection over his shoulder. 

“ _Ach_ , it’s not that bad. I may ice it later.” Kurt shrugged, and carried on up the hallway.

Of course, once Julian and Victor were delivered to Hank’s office for discipline, Hank jumped up from his desk to leer at Kurt’s face, much to Kurt’s embarrassment. He begrudgingly allowed Hank to check him for signs of concussion and eye damage before he and Scott returned to the dance. 

“I have to say, I’m quite disappointed in the boys.” Kurt admitted to Scott as they walked back towards the dance. “I thought they were friends.”

Scott laughed a little. “Oh, they probably still are. Teenagers are just idiots.” He elbowed Kurt in the ribs. “We weren't much older than that when I knocked your tooth out, remember?”

“Ha! _Ja_ , that’s true.” Kurt shook his head with a wistful sigh. “Although _that_ , at least, was an accident.”

“Kinda, but if I recall correctly, you pretty much dove face-first directly into my elbow from the top of the weight rack.” 

“Clearly, I didn’t miss my calling as a professional wrestler…” 

They both laughed, and Kurt turned to Scott, gesturing towards his barred teeth. “Plus, it grew back, so it was not a big deal.”

Scott slumped, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “Huh. It sure did. Weird.” 

Kurt shrugged and they continued up the hall. As they approached the gym, Scott elbowed Kurt a little before saying, “So, um...sorry for cockblocking you, by the way.”

“ _Was_? Oh.” Kurt looked down and wrung his hands awkwardly. “Don’t worry about it. It’s nothing.”

“Well, it certainly looked like something.” Scott followed. 

“I’ll probably go talk to her later, after the dance.” Kurt admitted, scratching behind his ear. 

“You should. You definitely, _definitely_ should.” Scott stated seriously, and Kurt smiled and looked down bashfully.

They stopped at the door of the gym, seeing that the lights had been turned on, students were heading back to their dorms, staff was starting to tidy up, and the DJ was disassembling his equipment. Kurt noted that Kitty was surrounded by a group of her closest friends, tearfully hugging some of them.

“Just keep in mind-” Scott set his hand on Kurt’s shoulder and smiled at him. “We’re leaving for the airport at five AM _sharp_. I don’t care _who’s_ bed I have to drag you out of!”

“Don’t worry about me!” Kurt laughed. “I’ll meet you at the door, packed and ready to go. No dragging necessary!”

Scott kept his hand on Kurt’s shoulder, but his smile fell. “I’m really gonna miss you, man.” he said, before pulling Kurt into a firm hug. 

Kurt readily hugged him back. “It’s not like I’m going to Mars, Scott. We will see each other again.”

“You’ll always have a home here, you know that?”

“Yes, of course. Thank you. I’ll miss you too.”

“Well…” Scott ended the hug by patting Kurt on the back and moving away. “We’d better get back to it.”

“ _Ja_ , we should.” Kurt agreed, and they walked into the gym together.

******

“So, um...yeah. So I fucked up, and I didn’t know who else to call, and-”

“Peter! Peter, please just stop talking. Don’t say anything else. I’ve actually been anticipating something like this for some time.” 

Peter halted his rambling with his mouth hanging open as he heard some rustling and a long exhale on the other end of the line. 

“Alright, so-” Erik finally said, “all you need to tell me is where you think you are being held, and I’ll take care of the rest.”

Peter’s face screwed up and he held the phone receiver away from his ear for a moment. “Dad! I didn’t get arrested! I’m not in jail!” 

“Oh. That’s...good.” Erik sounded truly bewildered. “Then why-”

“Fuck, I dunno. I guess I just needed some advice or something?”

“Alright...what about?”

Peter hunched over in the chair, and scratched the back of his neck. “So, um...y’know, maybe this is stupid?”

“Peter, please. It’s three AM here.” Erik groaned, before adding, more sympathetically, “It’s not stupid if it obviously upsets you so much.”

“Right. Okay. So, there’s this-” Peter cringed to himself, and took a deep breath. “‘Kay, now, before I even get started, I should probably, like, _preface_ this by saying that, in case you didn’t know, I’m Bi, which, honestly, is something I just planned on never, ever, telling you cuz I thought it’d make things _weird_. Which, um, in light of _recent events_ , is really stupid, so-” 

“Peter, even ignoring my _own_ current living situation, I need you to know that you can always tell me anything.” 

“Oh. Okay. Cool.” Peter nodded rapidly, before remembering that Erik can’t see him nod over the phone.

“In any case, Charles already told me that.” Erik added as an afterthought. 

“Hmm. Okay. And the other thing, I guess, is that I have a bit of a reputation for getting around. Like, _a lot_.”

“Yes, Charles told me that, too.”

“Huh. Weird.”

“It’s not, really. He had just brought it up as an example, when he was explaining why he thought promiscuity was genetic. Honestly, I was only half-listening.” Erik explained. “I can’t tell you how to live your life, but I do hope you’re being careful. You’re not invincible.”

“Uh, yeah. Duh. I know. I thought that’s what the _compound leg fracture_ and the _two-month coma_ were about.” Peter scoffed, before adding, “Don’t worry. I’m not gonna follow in your footsteps and accidentally make a bunch of kids I don’t know about.”

“Not ‘ _a bunch_ ,’ Peter! Just one!”

“That you know of.” 

“Is this the conversation you _wanted_ to have, when you picked up the phone?” 

Peter sighed wearily. “No, I guess not.”

“Then I suggest we move on.”

“Yeah. ‘Kay.” Peter leaned back in the chair and scratched his forehead. “So, if Charles already told you, like, every detail about my personal life, I’m sure he told you everything about Kurt, too?”

“No, actually. Not at all.”

“Oh. Shit. Well...blue guy, teleports. You talked to him on the phone?”

“Let’s just assume I’m familiar with him as a _concept_.” Erik interjected. “I’ve seen him in action and I used to work with his parents.”

“Oh, no shit?”

“Focus, Peter.”

“Alright, alright, alright-” Peter started fidgeting with a pen he found on the desk. “So, I guess the thing you need to know most about Kurt is that he’s just, like, a good guy. And when I say that, I mean he’s actually so good it _annoys_ me. Like, goes to church, doesn’t swear, gives money to charities, nice to everybody, looks after people, eats healthy, remembers everyone’s birthday....like, basically the _opposite_ of me. But then on the flip side, he’s super-fun, down for anything, fuckin’ _world-class_ acrobat, been all over the place- like, _really_ distractingly hot…” Peter trailed off, running his hand through his hair and tipping his head back. “Like, you can’t _not_ like him. Everyone likes him.” 

“Hmm. Go on.”

“So, sure enough, he was basically watching over me, when I was in the coma. Like, every day. And when I woke up, he’s still there, keeping me company and helping me out, even though he’s got, like, a fuckin’ _mountain_ of his own shit to deal with, which you probably know more about than I do.”

“It was a difficult time, to put it lightly.”

“So, what do I do? I just randomly kiss him. Which was...probably fuckin’ _dumb_ , if we’re being honest.” Peter picked the pen back up, spinning it around in his hand. “Like, I had no idea if he even liked guys. He’s, like, a devout Catholic. I’m lucky he didn’t fuckin’ slap me. But he didn’t. He was actually kinda into it.” 

“Oh?”

“Now, at this point, I’m thinking I just won the lottery. I’ve been trying to convince myself I _didn’t_ have a crush on him for, like, most of a decade. And there’s the added bonus of how he knows me well enough to know how much of a fuckin’ _disaster_ I am, and how little to expect from me. And he just didn’t care.” 

Peter can hear Erik exhale on the other end of the line, but otherwise remain silent. Peter pitched forward, propping his elbow on his knee and scratching his scalp with the pen. “Cuz, like, that’s the thing about Kurt, ya know? He told me once that he tries to just accept people for who they _are_ , not what they _should be_. But, like, let’s be honest- most people are _fuckin’ assholes_. To him, especially. The amount of times he stopped me from punching some prick’s lights out for some shit they said about him behind his back, or to his face. People gawk at him, I’ve seen them spit on him. And that’s just strangers. He was abandoned when he was born- you know that, though. His adoptive family sold him out. His whole life, people used him and took advantage of him. Hell, even people who like him. He’s so nice and never complains, so people ignore him and neglect him and take him for granted. We’re all guilty of it, and I don’t even know if he notices it, because he’s so used to it.”

Peter halted his rambling and dropped the pen, raking his hand through his hair with a heavy sigh. “This guy has spent his entire life living on _fucking scraps_ , and, I just... I couldn’t even give him that. Like, I can’t even describe to you how low the bar was, and I still fucked it all up.”

“But what did you actually _do_ , Peter?”

“I...Fuck, I just-” Peter dragged his hand down the side of his face as he considered how to describe what happened between him and Kurt without actually having to give a play-by-play of a sexual encounter to his semi-estranged father. “I...said some things...that were, um... _hurtful-_ **Fuck**. That doesn’t even touch it. Shit.”

“It’s okay, Peter. Whatever it is, you can tell me.”

Peter, again, nodded silently and took a deep breath before continuing, “I made him believe he could trust me, and he couldn’t. I convinced him I wasn’t like everyone else, but I was. Actually, I was _worse_. And I told myself that I did what I did because it was, like, the ‘ _right thing_ ,’ but that’s bullshit. I did it because it was the easiest thing for _me_ , and I didn’t care what it did to him.”

“Oh, Peter…” Erik breathed. “That’s-”

“Yep.” Peter interrupted. “It’s real shitty. I know. And wanna hear the best part?” he followed sarcastically. “When I tried to apologize, he completely shut me down. And I mean _completely_. Wouldn’t talk to me, wouldn’t hardly even look at me. And, like, I just wanna start over, right? I just want another chance. But then I find out he went and took this other job, in England. Without telling me. And so he’s leaving in, like, a month or so. And I know that there’s, like, _other stuff_ going on, that might make that a good idea for him. But I can’t help but think, like ‘Dude. you actually fuckin’ did it. You did what no other asshole on the planet could do. You actually managed to drive him away.’ I’m almost impressed with myself.”

Before Erik could respond, Peter slumped into the chair, groaning as he pinched the bridge of his nose. “Cuz, like, the thing is-” he started, with a slight crack in his voice, “He _can’t_ leave. I _can’t_ let him leave. Because I love him. I fuckin’ _need_ him, I’ve _needed_ him this whole time, even before I kissed him, because he’s my best friend, but I need more than that, now. I can’t do any of this without him. And I kept him away, on purpose, because I couldn’t be bothered to try- like, to be someone he could rely on, or want to be with. And he wanted me anyways. He accepted me completely, exactly how I am, until I finally pushed him too far, and now I lost him- Fuck, we _all_ lost him. And I gotta just take it all back, because I can’t do this without him. Like, I can’t fucking stand it. I just need another chance. How do I make him give me another chance? How-”

“You can’t.” Erik interjected, as Peter’s speech devolved into frantic rambling. “And you shouldn’t.”

“But-”

“Look, Peter, over the course of my life, I have hurt a lot of people.” Erik began to explain, “And many of them deserved it, and I would do it again in an instant.” 

“Um…”

“But sometimes, the people I’ve hurt the most, have been the ones who least deserve it. People I loved, and couldn’t bear to lose.” Erik paused, his voice even. “But oftentimes, I did lose them. I’d caused irreparable damage to the relationship, to their trust, and nothing I could have done would change that.”

“So, uh…’Suck it up.’ Is that what you’re saying?”

Erik gave a sympathetic sigh. “No, Peter. That’s not what I’m saying.” He took a deep breath before explaining, “Before you can even try to reconcile with Kurt, you need to be sure you completely understand what you did to hurt him, and why it hurt him so badly. And then, you need to ask yourself how hard you are willing to work in order to repair that relationship, because it is not going to be easy.”

“ _Seriously_? I’ll do fuckin’ anything, if he’d give another chance. I-” Peter began to ramble, before Erik cut him off.

“See? This is part of your problem.” Erik said sternly. “You want to erase what happened between you, and ‘reset’ the relationship. But that’s impossible. There are no ‘second chances’ with people. You can apologize, you can promise to change... but the things that you did, the way you made them feel- that’s never going to go away. You’re always going to be that person. They can say that they forgive you, but the relationship is still altered.”

“Then how-”

“That’s the hard part.” Erik answered easily. “You need to completely own everything you did, everything that caused, but not only that, you need to understand why you did it in the first place. Kurt needs to forgive you, but moreover, he needs to believe you when you say you’re going to do better. Also, he needs to accept what, if any, role he played in what happened between you, and be willing to work on that going forward. And you both need to do this, every single day, for as long as you remain close, or else it’s going to fall apart again.”

“Oh. Well...that, um…” Peter muttered quietly. “That sounds like a lot of fucking work.”

“Oh, yes. It is. It absolutely is.” Erik agreed seriously, before adding, “But if Kurt is even half as important to you as you say, then it’s worth it.”

Peter chewed his lip for a moment, until he managed a small smile. “Well, guess I better get to it, then.” he concluded, sitting upright. 

“Yes, I guess you should.” Erik agreed. 

“Oh! Um...thanks for the talk.” Peter added, a little awkwardly. 

“Of course, Peter. Anytime.” 

“I should probably let you go, then-”

“Actually, just one more thing-” Erik said quickly.

“Hmm?” 

“When you work things out with Kurt- and you _will-_ ” Erik said with absolute confidence, “I want you to take this young man of yours to Paris with you. I’d like to meet him for myself.”

Despite himself, Peter beamed. “Yeah, sure thing. Absolutely.” he replied enthusiastically. “I’ll see you then.”

******

Kurt teleported a few meters away from Ororo’s bedroom door. Since her room was actually a converted attic space, it was far removed from the densely-populated dormitories where the students and other live-in staff were housed. This time of night, it was almost completely silent and dark, with the exception of the glow of moonlight from the nearby window, and the thin strip of faint light creeping out from under Ororo’s bedroom door. He stared at the door for a moment, as his tail twitched nervously behind him. He could not hear any sounds from within the room. Without knowing what to expect, he raised his hand to knock twice.

A soft flurry of movement was heard, and Ororo threw the door open. “Kurt! I didn’t know-” she blurted, but then pulled back, hand still on the door knob, to stare at his face. “Goddess, what happened to your eye?”

He huffed a small laugh and looked away awkwardly. “It’s nothing. Some of the boys got into a tussle. I, uh, got caught in the crossfire, so to speak.”

She did not look convinced. “Well, you should have Hank-”

“He already looked at it, and said it was fine. It appears much worse than it is.”

“Hmm. Alright, then. I’ll take your word for it.” she concluded with a shrug. “Come in, Come in…” 

She stood away from the door and he entered the room, standing with his hands in his pockets as he watched her quietly close the door behind him. His mind raced with what to tell her, how to apologize for leaving her, but all was forgotten when she simply moved towards him, slipped her hands around his waist, and pressed herself against him as she started kissing him again. 

Instantly, his arm was around her and his other hand gently caressed her face as he returned the kiss eagerly. It seemed like the easiest thing in the world, as though his wildest dreams actually counted as practice for this very moment. How many times, for how many years, had he wanted this exact thing to happen? And now for her to surprise him like this, on the night before he left- it didn’t even seem real. 

He heard her sigh as she ran her hands up his back, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt, just as she softly slipped her tongue into his mouth. The only thing he could think to do was just give her everything she wanted. His tail wrapped itself around her knee, just below where her sophisticated black sweater-dress ended, and she responded by bringing her leg up and wrapping it around his thigh. He must have audibly gasped, because he thought he felt her laugh. He had an intense, baffling urge to just drop to his knees at her feet. 

She broke the kiss to move back from him just enough to reach towards his collar. She glanced up at him, smiling, crystal-blue eyes sparkling, as she started to undo the buttons of his shirt. The weight of their actions occurred to him all at once, and he felt his stomach sink. He couldn’t do this. Not again.

“Wait-” he whispered, and grasped her hands with both of his. 

“Hmm?” She raised an eyebrow curiously.

“We shouldn’t-” 

“Why not?”

“I just...I don’t want to ruin anything.”

“Of course, but I also know that there’s _something else_ between us, and I know you feel it, too.” she argued, shaking her hands, still held in his. “Why else would you come back to my room?”

“I don’t know. To say goodbye, I suppose.”

“We’ve been flirting with each other for _years-_ ” she began to argue. 

“Because it always made you laugh.” Kurt interjected softly. 

She inhaled sharply, looking to the ground. “Is this about that time with...that _watch device_ that Hank made for you?” she asked guiltily. 

Kurt stilled, closing his eyes as waves of old memories and regret rose up in him. “Not completely.” he admitted. 

She continued to look down, nodding slightly. The thought of hurting her made his heart ache. He shifted their hands so that her fingers wrapped around his, and he gently rubbed her knuckles with his thumb. “Ororo-” he started, and she looked up. “I am _always_ going to love you.” he said, plainly and with conviction. “But you have to admit that your world would have been a lot smaller with me in it.”

She looked away again, accepting his words without argument. She sniffed and released a long exhale. “Well, this isn’t really how I thought this would go.” she said quietly, her voice wavering.

“Oh?”

“I thought maybe we could be together, if only just once.”

He held her face in his hands. “I think we both know it could never just be once.”

She wrapped her hands around his wrists, with the faintest of smiles on her lips. “And would that be so bad?” she asked, barely audible.

He closed his eyes in shame and guilt, just as he felt a tear roll down her cheek and onto his hand. “It’s too late, now.” 

He slid his hands down to brace her elegant shoulders, before leaning in to place a chaste kiss on one cheek, and then the other, before pressing their foreheads together. “Goodbye, Ororo.” he forced himself to say, and then turned and walked out of the room.

******

Kurt lay on his back in his hammock, staring up at his ceiling as he struggled to fall asleep. He had always preferred his hammock to a regular bed and had affixed it to the ceiling rafters so that it hung about a meter and a half off the floor. He had changed into a worn long-sleeved t-shirt and a pair of grey pajama pants as soon as he returned to his room from Ororo’s. One backpack and one modestly-sized piece of luggage sat next to the door of his room, while all his other belongings had been packed into carefully-labeled cardboard boxes, to be shipped to his new home in England. 

He sighed, blinking slowly, as he tried to calculate how many hours of sleep he would get if he could just fall asleep _right now_. Anything to redirect himself from his other, more intrusive, trains of thought.

The memory of Ororo touching him, the thought of her touching him more, jumped to his mind again, unbidden. For a split second, he wondered if she would still have him, if he went back to her room right now and apologized. He donned a frustrated scowl as he dragged both hands down the sides of his face, trying to force the thoughts away. His frustration mounted as his pajamas began to feel tighter, as his body reacted to the same thoughts he was trying to ignore. Too edgy and defeated to do anything about it, he just crossed his arms and continued to stare at the ceiling, wishing the problem would resolve itself.

He was no closer to sleep when he heard a series of rapid, incessant knocks. His tail, which had been dangling limp over the side of his hammock, thrashed in agitation as he groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose. There was no mistaking who was on the other side of the door. He considered just ignoring the knocking and pretending to be asleep, but the sound persisted, louder and more frantic by the second.

Finally, he deftly rolled out of his hammock and fixed his clothes before taking a deep breath and opening the door.

“Can I help you, Peter?” he asked flatly.

Peter looked relieved when the door actually opened. “Oh! Yeah, uh-” he started eagerly, until something distracted him. He winced and pulled back. “Dude! What’s wrong with your fuckin’ eye?”

Kurt sighed and crossed his arms. “I got elbowed in the face.”

“So are you, like, blind now?”

“ _Nein_. It’s just a bruise.” 

Peter nodded, and then stood straighter, shoving his hands into his pockets. “So, Scott and ‘Ro tell me that you’re leaving?”

“Yes, that is correct.” Kurt responded, as neutral as possible.

“So, I’m guessing that’s, like, pretty much my fault, right?” Peter followed, and stared into Kurt’s eyes as he awaited a reply.

Kurt looked down and released a long, exhausted exhale. He placed one hand on the doorknob and returned Peter’s gaze. “Not everything has to do with you, Peter.”

Kurt watched as Peter raised an eyebrow but did not actually say anything. He waited a few seconds for Peter to reply, but when Peter just scratched at his hair and looked at his feet, Kurt gave a slight shrug and started to close the door. 

The door was almost completely shut when Peter suddenly grasped it, holding it firm. He pushed the door back open, just enough so that he could lean into Kurt’s space, eyes wide and voice low. 

“Do you still want me?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter’s title is from the conclusion of the 1992 song “Would?” by Alice In Chains. It’s a great song about regret, indecision, and uncertainty about one’s self and relationship with others. 
> 
> The off-hand comment that Ororo makes to Kurt about being a good breakdancer stems from a deleted scene from Apocalypse where Kurt tries breakdancing. Ororo wasn’t around, which is why she heard about it from Scott. 
> 
> There are (assuming I go with my current narrative plans) two chapters left on this story. I’m hoping to maintain my current schedule of ~1 chapter per week, but I’ve had a few setbacks recently in terms of how much time I have to work on this, so I can’t guarantee there won’t be longer gaps between the next few updates. 
> 
> Next chapter will probably be eventful, we’ll put it that way.


End file.
